


Hooked on a Feeling

by Billywick, hisboywriter



Series: Outlast Roleplay Fiction [2]
Category: Outlast (Video Games), Outlast Whistleblower
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-03 09:26:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 69,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1739609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Billywick/pseuds/Billywick, https://archiveofourown.org/users/hisboywriter/pseuds/hisboywriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waylon Park moves into an apartment block  filled with oddball tenants (including his roommate Miles) and the number one rule: Never let any of the neighbours into your apartment.<br/>Also, stay away from Eddie Gluskin.</p><p>Warning! This fic may start off sweet as sugar plum pie, but it will spiral into that Explicit rating. Eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [All Good Things in Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1678568) by [pennysparkle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennysparkle/pseuds/pennysparkle). 



> Reading through this I realize Waylon seems incredibly naive and sweet, and same for Eddie...might be too OOC for people, but it is an AU and no one is forcing you to read it :D

Apartments constructed out of asylums ran cheap.

In a world where either people believed in the supernatural or preferred to skirt it (just to be safe), it paved the way for nonbelievers like Waylon Park. Everything could be explained, sometimes longer than explaining other things, but logic trumped all.

So he merely examined the apartment building with a casual glance, accepting it as his new place of residence. Despite being founded on an asylum, the neighborhood was decent for a bustling city. Given that Waylon’s potential new job would require him to work mostly from home, that suited him fine.

He left most of his items in the car, only bringing a pack that also included his laptop. First, he had to mount up the stairwell, cleaner than expected, and up to the fourth floor. He had never met his new roomate in person, but found nothing when he’d looked him up that caused concern.

Ah, there it was.

Waylon steadied himself. He’d never been very good with people, more awkward than anything else. Hence his face stuck in a laptop more often than not. How Lisa wanted to pursue him was beyond him, but it had been part of the reason to come out a city away from her, tentatively rejecting her offer to start up a romance.

He hiked up his bag on his shoulder, looked around the hallway, and knocked on the door.

Waylon’s arrival was something of an event in the Mount Massive Apartment complex. All of the tenants here appreciated the spacious rooms and low rent, but they all had their reasons for living in such an odd place. Privacy was a big factor there.

Waylon’s new roommate went by the name of Miles Upshur, and he was an investigative journalist. More often than not, that meant hounding people who didn’t want to be bothered, and finding evidence on things people didn’t want exposed. Miles was often between jobs, sometimes his employers just couldn’t handle the pressure or his stubborn tenacity. MM, he could always afford, even if he was scraping by on savings.

Like right now. He was fairly low on money, which is why he’d put out an ad for a roommate. And low and behold, someone fairly decent and trustworthy had agreed and eagerly accepted all of his terms.

The door swung open for Waylon, and he was face to face with Miles. 

“Hey, you must be Waylon. Park, right? You’re kinda, “ glance to his watch, “really early. Couldn’t wait to see the place, huh?”

Waylon opened his mouth to blurt out a rehearsed greeting, and had been thwarted by further dialogue he hadn’t expected. Oh. Was it that early? He glanced at the time on his phone.

Shit. He was a good two hours early to just being moderately early.

“Oh, yeah,” he forced a chuckle, grabbing his strap hard. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t...well, I was ready to leave my old place. Kind of an ex-girlfriend situation. Well, not really even girlfriend. More like friend who wants to be more, and we had moved in together before that, and then she met this guy--Jesus, yeah, I’m...rambling.”

He wanted to pinch himself.

“I mean: I’m Waylon. Nice to meet you at last. I was kind of expecting this place to be too good to be true. You sure you ain’t pulling my leg?”

“Miles. And no, I ain’t pulling your leg. I mean, you saw the building, right? You know what kinda shit went down in this place? Most people are too superstitious, they think the place is haunted and that’s why we have a ton of empty apartments in here. There’s also a wing that hasn’t been renovated, there’s still beds in there and shit. But hell, I’m rambling too. Come in. Rest of your stuff outside?”

Miles stepped aside to let his roommate in. His apartment was more than spacious, and Miles had furnished it very, very nicely. 

Waylon smiled, already liking how easily Miles handled his strange interaction with his new roomate. More like awkward. At any rate, he did step inside, marveling at the modern decor, the space. Hell, they could easily live together and not get in each other’s way.

Even the kitchen had an island.

“Wow,” he said. “Uh, yeah, the rest is in the car. This is better than the pictures you sent.”

He set down his bag and looked at his new place. He really didn’t need to bring any furniture in. Good thing too, since he lacked it.

“I guess we should lay down the ground rules and such before I officially haul it all up here?” He waved off the earlier mentioning of superstitions. “And I don’t believe in any of that so you won’t see me mounting crosses around the place or anything.”

“That’s a relief, and I’ll keep you to that when you start buying holy water en masse.” Miles grinned, an easy, loose expression. He had a job that often showed him the rather ugly side of life and humanity, a haunted building was nothing in comparison.

“Ground rules...don’t touch my part of the fridge, replace the TP when we’re out, no bringing back girls or guys without at least a warning text. Yep, that about covers it.” Miles shrugged, fetching himself a beer and after a moment’s consideration, one for Waylon too.

“Oh yeah. Don’t let any of the neighbours into the apartment. Ever.”

Waylon nodded as Miles mentioned the fridge. He had fidgeted at the prospect of bring back a girl or guy back. Miles didn’t seem to care of his sexual preference, but it still seemed a hassle for Waylon, who never really indulged that part of himself.

But he did his best to play it cool and took the offered beer.

As he cracked it open, he considered the last tidbit of information. Rather, rule.

“Oh, really? Any particular reason why? To be honest, now that you mention it, I felt like they were all watching me go up the stairs and down the hall.”

“They’re all crazy.” Miles took a casual sip before he indulged in giving Waylon a better explanation of his rather harsh statement.

“There’s...people, who live on the edge. And they live here. I mean, they’re good guys, they won’t bother you, but you should stay out of their way. For example, Chris lives down on the first floor. He’s the only one who lives there, and he rarely leaves his apartment. Except at night. He walks around and you’ll hear it, the guy is huge and weighs a ton. I’m not sure if he’s sleepwalking or whatever, but he cusses and talks like there’s people there. Not every night, mind you.   
Or take Doctor Trager, from second floor. Retired surgeon, got something wrong with his hands or something. Keeps adopting pets, one after another. And I’ve never seen him walk a dog. And Frank from upstairs...”

Waylon’s face contorted in the appropriate response to learning of the potential lunacy his neighbors were inclined toward. Harsh or not, he made a point to take the warning with a grain of salt. He would be indoors most of the time anyway, not looking to throw block parties.

It was a cast of quirky characters, people with maybe a mental disorder and found safety out here. Not a big deal.

“No problem. I can do that.” He hesitated, unsure how to tread on the following question without sounding insulting. “Er...does that...make you…?”

“Me? Naw,” Miles waved off the claim, chuckling as he continued his beer. Didn’t matter how early it was, it was never too early for beer.

“I mean, I get all my crazy out in my job. You don’t have to worry, I sleep like a rock and I’m pretty houseclean. Bit lazy on the actual cleaning though. So, you know, if you want something done, you’re better off just doing it.”

Miles glanced out of the window, down at the obviously new arrival’s car.

“Ah, you mind waiting a bit to get the rest of your stuff? Looks like the Twins just got in.”

There were two very muscular men standing around Waylon’s car.

Waylon licked his lips clean off beer and got up to peer over. Twins? He should have expected the brutes he saw, but his naive mind had first painted a picture of two good looking twins. The fact that Miles warned him should have wiped that image out of his mind right away.

He frowned, suddenly concerned his car was in danger.

“What are they doing? Who are they?”

“They’re the twins. Third floor. They live with this dude, calls himself Father Martin. He used to work in this place back when it was a nuthouse...I think they’re his nephews or something. Weird little religious nut family. They’re not dangerous, they’re just....really unfamiliar with personal space. Wouldn’t want you to get uncomfortable on your first day here, right?”

Waylon shook his head vigorously like a child. He continued studying the twins, hoping their religious uncle didn’t think the building needed to be burnt down to be cleansed of what spirits he believed haunted the place.

“Guess that explains the cheap rent,” he said in a sigh.

Then he cracked a small smile at Miles. “I’m still in though. I won’t be going out a lot anyway besides errands. My new job, if I get it, doesn’t require me to leave the apartment much.”

He decided to peel away from the window and leave the twins to their pondering.

“Don’t touch the fridge, don’t invite anyone in.” He paused. “Ah, I take it you’re not seeing anyone then?”

“Ah...nah, nothing serious. I don’t like bringing people back here anyway. This place has a sort of harmony, you know? Everyone’s kind of crazy, but we leave each other alone. Everyone sticks to their own business.”

A loud thump next door interrupted their conversation, followed by a litany of curses in a deep, male voice.

“Oh yeah, we got one neighbour on this floor. That weirdo moved in right next door, don’t ask me why. He hardly ever leaves his apartment, I think he’s a tailor though. Always getting tons of fabric in the mail. Name’s Eddie Gluskin. He’s alright. But same rules apply.”

Another weirdo to add to the list. Waylon nodded, looking at the direction where the noise came from. Gluskin? What kind of name was that? If he was a tailor, maybe it was a family name. A lot of family names forever ago meant the occupation after all.

“Well, guess that checks them all,” he said. “Thanks. For the info. Since I can’t get my stuff, I can go walk to the grocery store a block down, erm...avoiding the twins. I could make us dinner. You know, make it a night for us becoming roommates.”

“Hey, what, you can cook? Shit, why didn’t you say so? I wouldn’t even have asked for any info on you if you just told me that.” Miles’ face lit up and suddenly, he seemed entirely brimming with joy like Waylon had personally handed him a cup of sunshine.

“I have a feeling you and I are going to get along very well, Waylon.”


	2. Chapter 2

Waylon didn’t get bounces in his steps. He had an easier way of walking though, even with two paper bags crowding the space between his arms. Miles mentioned a way out that didn’t cross the front and thus into the curiosity of the twins. 

Really, Miles was turning out great. Laid back, funny, easy to handle, helpful.

Waylon knew a blush was creeping. He forced it back down and marched up the steps to his floor again. He hadn’t seen the twins outside when he got back. This time, he walked a little quieter, straining for sounds.

He momentarily paused as he passed by Eddie Gluskin’s door. Strange. All this space in the hallway and the guy was right next door.

Was he really a tailor? Crazy?

Just as Waylon lingered too long, his arm slipped and the bags fell, spilling vegetables stuffed in green backs, spices, and the like.

“Oh, shit,” he cursed, hurrying to gather the fallen items. “Miles! Could use a little help out here…”

It wasn’t Miles that responded, but the door Waylon kneeled in front of opened a crack. Someone peered out into the hallway.

“Sorry? Are you lost?”

A deep, pleasant voice, well-mannered and enunciating, greeted Waylon. Its owner was a very tall, very broad man with dark hair and striking blue eyes. Striking was also his outfit, complete with waistcoat and bowtie.

Waylon peered up at the voice and started. With all the talk of crazy neighbors, he’d come to imagine the neighbor to look as bizarre as the twins he had seen. Probably an unfair assessment, but how he was proved wrong at the sight of a gentleman.

He sounded nice. Very nice, really.

“Oh, sorry, no.” Waylon laughed nervously as he shoved the items back in the bag, staggering back to his feet. “Um, actually, I just moved in. Next door. Sorry for the bother. Just had a small accident.”

This Eddie seemed harmless enough and social custom dictated to offer his hand, so he did.

“Waylon Park.”

Eddie eyed his hand for a moment, before grasping it in his own. His engulfed Waylon’s. But the pressure was reasonable, very tempered.

“Edward Gluskin. You can call me Eddie. So you’re my new neighbour...I hope my work doesn’t bother you. It can get a little...noisy sometimes.”

Jesus, the guy was huge. Waylon blinked at how his hand was swallowed by the other. Despite that, the grip was evenly pressured along his hand, and not at all uncomfortable. It made Waylon smile and shake the hand back.

Maybe Eddie was weird, but it looked to be as a result of being way into exercise if anything.

“Eddie, then,” he said. “Don’t worry. I sleep really deeply. I’m sure it won’t be a bother. Ah, I heard you...tailor, is that right?”

Waylon felt a little flushed but that was the cause of huffing up flights of stairs.

“Yes. I design and make...ah, bridal gowns,” Eddie looked mildly embarrassed, but he gave Waylon a smile that should charm any man or woman, straight or gay. 

“Sometimes I get frustrated with something, and it gets loud. Creative difficulties, and all. May I ask what you do?”

Eddie leaned down to pick up a few fallen items, placing them in Waylon’s paper bag.

Remembering his fallen pre-dinner items, he scrambled to assist Eddie, taking note of how fluidly the guy moved for someone his size. He certainly had the smile to match too. A charming smile that was not like a salesman. Those were fake, this was...something else. It made Waylon want to see it again.

“Bridal gowns? Sounds tough. I don’t know much about that but I know they’re big and are detailed and made from not cheap fabric,” he said in good humor. “As for me, I’m way less creative. I’m a software engineer. So, technology geek you could say. If I get too noisy with my work, please drop by because I shouldn’t be and might have gone crazy with my last project.”

It was a joke, but he instantly felt guilty for suggesting Eddie come in when Miles had said no, even if he had said it in jest.

Eddie graced him with another smile, this one a little more coy than the last.

“I’m sure you’re good at what you do, Waylon Park,” he tried the name, wrapped his voice softly around it and lent a suave to Waylon’s name previously unknown. He might as well have whispered it on a pillow in bed.

“Waylon! I’ve been trying to call you, you were shopping so long I thought you- oh, hey Eddie.”

“Mr. Upshur,” Eddie nodded his head in greeting and retreated into his flat instantly.

“I’ll see you around, Waylon Park.”

Waylon had smiled back, maybe a little stupidly. He’d never had much luck with maintaining extended conversation for one reason or another, and Eddie, who had no real reason to bother with him, stayed a moment to greet him properly.

It was nice.

Then he was gone in a couple of blinks.

“Oh, hey, sorry about that,” he said. He held up his bags, dented but surviving. “I dropped them on my way here and Eddie came out to help me pick them up. He was really nice.”

Miles didn’t say anything until they were in his apartment and closed the door. He didn’t really attempt to put the groceries away, but he lingered in the kitchen.

“Yeah...about that. Eddie’s...a strange guy. He’s all nice and polite up front, but there’s something about him...the others keep away from him, always. Like, I’ve seen the twins go about a mile around him when he goes out.”

“Yeah?” Waylon called back as he took it upon himself to refrigerate what needed to be kept cold and separated the meats for tonight’s dinner. “Maybe they’re allergic to gentlemen.”

He laughed, and noticed Miles wasn’t.

“Look, he seemed nice enough. I’m not inviting him to dinner or anything. Maybe he’s too sane for their liking, you know? Or maybe they think it’s weird that he’s a big guy. Intimidating. Or even more, they think it’s weird he makes bridal gowns. I think that’s kind of neat, personally. I have no artistic flavor in me.”

Miles patted him on the shoulder, a small, patronizing smile on his lips.

“Waylon, you’re way too nice to be anything but an IT guy. Just don’t be too quick about trusting anyone around, yeah?”

He mused something for a moment, before his voice took on a teasing quality.

“Or, you know, are you into that kind of thing? Big guys?”

Waylon dropped the three spiced he had been arranging on the counter flanking the stove. He cursed and quickly collected them, not looking at Miles at all because no, that was a not a blush rushing up his skin.

“I’m not...nice,” he said, pitifully. “And...no. I’m not into him.”

He cast a hairy eyeball at Miles, though there was no force behind the look. 

“But what about you? He seemed eager to leave when you showed up. Bad break up?” he teased.

“Hah. I’d know about that,” Miles shrugged, picking up something from the bag and inspecting it. He seemed to have little to do today, because he kept occupying himself with Waylon. Or maybe he was just needing to satisfy his curiosity towards his roommate.

“I mean, he looks pretty good, but I don’t think I’m into dudes that could probably pick me up and throw me across a river or something. Besides, that guy has women walking in and out of his place all the time. Pretty sure that boat doesn’t sail my way.”

Waylon picked up on that remark quickly. He might be naive, but he wasn’t stupid. He looked back at Miles and considered him. The man seemed confident of himself, not bothered that Waylon would have an ill opinion on him in regards to his bed partners.

Miles was handsome, though, in a casual way. He wasn’t a pretty boy or too beautiful.

Waylon cleared his throat.

“Oh. Whatever floats your boat,” he said, smiling again. “I, ah, guess...I don’t have much of a type. Girl or...guy.” He shrugged and turned, managing to find the equipment to start slicing the meats as the stove warmed. “Not that I’m, you know, sleeping around with any person who looks at me.”

Miles shrugged again, illustrating his casual approach to sexuality. Whatever came his way, you know? It wasn’t easy to hold relationships for him, sooner or later any partner became fed up with his endless enquiries, snooping as they’d called it. So Miles sort of gave up on having someone steady and found relief whenever he wanted it with strangers he never had to see again.

But it would be nice to have a friend in Waylon.

“Good attitude to have. But hey, if you like Eddie, don’t let me stop you.”

Waylon shook his head and rolled his eyes. He’d not even moved in and already he was given the green light to go after a neighbor who, as Miles put it, gave other the heeby-jeebies. Fine enough, he took it in good stride and shooed Miles out of the kitchen to get to work.

It was a great dinner.

As he cooked, he indulged Miles’ need to know as much information as he could scrounge up on a first day being roommates. Waylon didn’t mind telling him about Lisa, about their on-and off sort-of-dating-friendship since they were teenagers.

He talked about his loving parents back east, his high marks in Berkeley and how it got him a degree that’d keep him at work. 

Then, it was time to get his stuff. But first.

“Ah, hold on. You go ahead and use the bathroom or whatnot.”

He smiled and gathered some leftovers and snuck out. He paused outside Eddie’s apartment, looked down at the tin-foiled goods, then knocked on the door.

This time, the door took longer to open. Eddie looked out through a thin crack of the door, before opening it just enough for himself to fit in the frame. And he really filled that frame.

“Hello again, Mr Park,” he greeted, peering for a moment to ascertain whether or not Miles was there too. He seemed to relax when the reporter proved nowhere to found.

Waylon’s smile grew exponentially as Eddie made himself fully known.

“Don’t have much time. We’re about to move my stuff up but, well, you helped me out when I dropped everything so I figured it was only fair to give you some food from the, er, dropped...stuff.”

He held up the glass container and peeled back some of the foil.

“It’s just some meats and veggies, but on the side I put some cornbread for dessert too. If you want it, that is.”

He awkwardly held out his arms, presenting the food.

Eddie looked at him for a long moment, not sure what to make of the offering. Was this some sort of prank, or did Waylon genuinely want to play the good neighbourly game? The tailor took it after the moment’s hesitation.

“It does smell delicious...thank you. Very much. You didn’t have to.”

He definitely approved of this soft-eyed, well-structured young man. Fine skin, sandy hair...he could see this one in a dress. He’d look beautiful. But he probably shouldn’t say that out loud.

Waylon internally beamed when his offering settled into Eddie’s strong hands. The glass container weighed more than the food combined and being one for lack of strength, he pathetically felt its effects on his muscles. Eddie looked as if he could handle ten times more.

“No, I know. We’re neighbors and you helped me, so it was the least I can do. I’m just glad you didn’t think I was being too weird by offering.” 

His smile faltered as the silence crept in after his admission.

“Better get going,” he said, waving as he hastened back to his apartment before Miles got too wise. “See you around the building.”

God knew he hoped that was the case.

-x-

Given the unhinged mental status of Waylon’s neighbors, moving in with Miles resulted in lifted moods. True to Miles speculations, the neighbors never bothered them, though Waylon stayed prudent to Miles’ heedings and did not venture out late at night if he could help it. That was general common sense in a big city.

Life in the apartment allowed for easy adjustment. Their routines meshed well. Miles’ schedule was unpredictable for the most part. Sometimes he’d be out many hours or home all day. Sometimes he’d be locked up in his room or using the main table in the dining area, his notes and laptop stretched over every surface of the wood.

When he was like that, brimming with anticipation and on the scent, Waylon knew right away to leave him alone. He’d make an extra helping of anything he cooked though without asking, given that Miles seemed to forget eating and drinking when he pursued a lead. The only interruptions Waylon snuck in was the way he’d push the plate of food with two fingers in Miles’ direction.

Otherwise, when he was laid back and presumably not scoping out articles to write, he chilled indoors most of the time. Waylon liked that, surprisingly. Miles went out sometimes for non-work things, but moderately, and never returned like a drunk or other horror cases Waylon had in the past.

He liked Miles’ company, and managed to break away from his own work (he got the job with Murkoff after all!) to sit beside him, share a case of beers, and watch shows or movies.

Plus, with the new job, it meant steady income, which Waylon liked to indulge in now and then. Big on saving, he would carve out a separate account for goodies, and more often than not he splurged on fine ingredients for awesome dinners. He liked cooking, especially for others. It was as close to creativity as he got.

In the creative department, that meant Eddie.

Waylon knew he was curious about the guy early into the first couple months. Like Miles said, he never saw Eddie leave the apartment at regular hours when he’d go to get groceries or for a walk (he was trying to stay in decent shape and no, it wasn’t because he wanted to look good for anyone in particular).

So, being the awkward guy he could be, he’d accidentally (not) make extra meals a few times a month and supplied the extra to Eddie. But he’d been so nervous to hand it over, feeling like he was coming off as desperate or trying too hard to be neighborly when he never would have done that in the past. So, he ended up leaving them outside Eddie’s door with a quick note explaining the meal, the circumstances of his accidental overcooking.

Then he’d knock and rush back inside his place.

It seemed to work because he’d hear the door open, close, and a peek out his door revealed Eddie had taken the food.

So it went for a couple months like that. He never told Miles about it, feeling like it was his secret. Why, he didn’t know. It’s not like he was into Eddie really. Just...curious. He’d always been curious. Hell, it’s what made him see how far he could hack into systems before an alarm could be triggered. He lacked the nerve to go that far, but he liked to pretend he did.

Beyond that, he really had no reason to talk to Eddie, to...be neighborly. Neighbors didn’t just do that. It wasn’t like a friendship or courting.

Then a coincidence (not fate) changed that. 

Waylon still chatted with Lisa, via text or skype. He liked the space between them, believing it recategorized their priorities toward each other. He cared about her, but he didn’t think that’d develop into anything. 

So on a particular evening skype in his room, she updated her life. A topic of popularity recently was her cousin’s wedding, one she intended to drag Waylon to. However, tonight she didn’t hook into coaxing him into going yet, instead rambling on about the tragedy of her wedding gown, the nightmare that exploded at the gown store.

“Ruined! Like, you wouldn’t believe it. It wasn’t the same color, it didn’t fit her ass at all and her tits were flying out all over the pl--Hey, are you listening to me?”

Waylon bit down a yawn. He’d not been one for intense or long conversations, and Lisa was, and acted like he wasn’t. Plus, all this wedding stuff just sounded tiring.

“Sorry, no the...uh, gown was messed up. She’d ordered it and they took down all the info though, right?”

“Right, but they still screwed it up somehow. So she was in tears when it was all over.” She sighed inside her window, shaking her head. “It’s a mess. She doesn’t want them to fix it because she’s terrified it’ll look worse. Her wedding is only a couple months away and, come on, you need to come with me. She’s keeping a spot ready for you and a plus one.”

“Why would she do that? And that sucks, about the dress…”

“She really likes you, you know. You were really sweet to her when we were in high school.”

“She didn’t bully me and gave me a book she didn’t want anymore. Of course I was nice to her.”

Lisa overlooked that and exclaimed as an epiphany struck her. “Wait a minute, I just got an idea…”

“I don’t think I’m going to like it.”

“Don’t be a baby. Listen, you said one of your weirdo neighbors...ah, no, the nice guy that you talked about. You said he makes dresses?”

Waylon nodded. “Bridal gown--Oh, no. You can’t expect me--”

“Please, pretty please, Way? Just...at least ask him. Tell him the situation. Maybe he can point you in the right direction if he can’t make it for her. Please? She’s a mess and we need a new dress soon.”

“I don’t even know what his dresses look like. They could be ugly.”

“You owe me.”

Waylon frowned. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re calling the I.O.U. for this. It’s not even for you.”

“It is, damn it, because I’m her maid of honor and she’s driving me nuts even though I feel bad for her. Come on. It’ll make me look really good too,” she added, practically batting her eyelashes.

Waylon sighed hard.

“Please?”

God, he was a pushover sometimes.

Thus, the resulting image of him standing outside Eddie’s door, again, gearing up mentally. It was still evening, so he felt fine being out in the hallway.

He knocked on the door and waited.


	3. Chapter 3

Waylon had integrated well into Mount Massive. The other tenants knew him by sight mostly, only a few actually had the opportunity to introduce themselves to him. Miles’ predictions seemed to have been a little too cautious, since nothing had yet to go wrong with their crazy neighbours. Though they had both awoken one night to Chris walking around downstairs, moaning like a bridge troll. At first, it had frightened them both into grabbing flashlights and in Miles’ case, a camcorder, but as soon as they looked down and watched their neighbour sleepwalking, it was sort of funny.

There were worse places to live.

“Mr. Park. You really don’t have to...oh, it is actually you this time,” Eddie seemed pleasantly surprised. He had a measuring tape around his neck and deep bags under his eyes. Yet he smiled for his eccentric neighbour with the talent to cook like the most loving housewife Eddie always wished to have.

“How can I help you?”

Waylon resisted the urge to fidget or shift from foot to foot. It was the first time they had seen each other since he began dropping off meals for the other man. He wasn’t sure if he should bring it up or brush by that altogether and get to the point.

“Hey, Eddie. Look, I’m really sorry to bother you but,” he inhaled, “I’m kind of in a bind and was hoping you could help in some way.” He sped up his speech. “See, my friend’s cousin is getting married and her gown got completely ruined and I don’t know much about how long it takes to make a gown or if I’m asking for the impossible, but she’s getting married in a couple months and since you make them I thought maybe you could help or point me in the right direction, but if not, that’s totally fine.”

He exhaled, out of breath, cheeks pink. “But anything that might get my friend to stop reaching through the computer and choking me would be...great...so…”

Eddie listened to the request, kind of baffled and flattered at the same time. He’d been expecting Waylon to come speak to him, most likely about the meals he left like little courtship gifts. Eddie had been very intrigued, a little worried, but mostly interested. Had Waylon been trying to sort of ‘find his heart through his stomach’? Eddie hadn’t let that fantasy run away with him.

But this request proved to come completely out of the blue, and Eddie was sort of disappointed when it turned out to involve doing a favour for someone else. But also relief that it was not for Waylon’s wedding.

“Oh, well, certainly I could help. As it happens, I have some free time coming up. The last bride that ordered...cancelled her request unexpectedly, so I could probably offer your friend’s cousin the design and fabric for a little below my standard rate, since its not originally designed for her...”

Eddie didn’t open the door any wider but he stepped in front of it with a little card that he held out for Waylon. It was his business card.

“Have you friend’s cousin call me. And soon too, a few months is very little time.”

Waylon stared at the card for several heartbeats. By the time he took the card, he was practically vibrating with delight. His thumb smoothed over the business card. He looked up at Eddie with a wider smile.

“Wow, really?” He exhaled a laugh. “You’re a lifesaver. I can’t...even begin to say thanks. My friend’s going to be so happy.”

He seemed to remember to compose himself and straightened again.

“Oh, here.” He fished out a folded paper from his pocket, handing it over. “It has her measurements and the like. Just in case it helps to start right way. But anyway,I have to make it up to you. This is really decent of you. I totally owe you. Maybe...I mean, if there’s anything in particular you want for a big dinner? Your favorite? I’m really not good at much else…”

“Oh, ah, I won’t be working for free, you realize,” Eddie scratched his head, embarrassed it seemed. It looked odd on a big man like him, “Maybe you should ask your friend if her cousin can afford my rates. I wouldn’t want to start the work if she’s not sure.”

As for the dinner?

“You don’t owe me anything for bringing in business, and your...dinners have already been more than enough. They’re delicious, thank you by the way.”

Waylon’s pink returned. He shook his head. “No, no, I know. Trust me, money isn’t an issue with her. I’ve been told so, but I’ll pass the message along anyway.”

In truth, he didn’t have to do more for Eddie. The guy would be paid, handsomely no doubt, as it was, so their business was done.

Yet Waylon still lingered.

“Thanks. I just make a lot out of habit, I suppose. Lisa, the friend I mentioned, always ate for like three people so I got use to making so much.” He cleared his throat, lingered more. “I’m glad you like them...Um, anyway, thanks again.”

What was he doing loitering, wasting Eddie’s time?

He took a step back, turned, then turned back again. “Hey, you...ever go out much? You seem to stay inside a lot, which is fine, but...well, if you ever want some fresh air or something, I’m going to be going to the market in a few hours. I have to get a bunch of things, plus some techy stuff to help Miles perfect the surround sound.”

Nervous laugh. “So...just if you wanted to.”

Eddie looked at him very oddly at first. Suspicious, why would Waylon know if he went out or not? Had he been watching? Spying? 

Then, as the nervous man continued, Eddie saw a clearer picture of what Waylon was trying to achieve.

“Uh, excuse me if it seems rude and forgive me if I’m wrong, but are you...asking me out? With you?”

Waylon blurted out, “No! No, I mean...I don’t think so?” 

He had never asked anyone out and he didn’t think he had ever been asked out. Hang out? Yes, but then again, what detailed a date and what didn’t? Waylon realized he lacked the experience and general knowledge on that foundation and it had his head spinning.

“Or...I’m not sure,” he admitted. “All I know is you’re pretty cool for a neighbor. I’m curious to hang out with you a little, if you’re okay with that.” Here came his short-lived, nervous laugh again. “Not like I’m asking to take you to a fancy place and see a movie neither of us will watch instead of, er...never mind. Sorry. I, Jesus, I swear I don’t ramble like this usually.”

“Right,” The ‘cool’ neighbour didn’t seem to find it amusing, he looked concerned. If only Waylon knew why Eddie was so cautious, he’d be running, screaming, phoning the police.

“You mean, spend time together in a platonic sense?”

A friend? He never really had one of those. Ever. It sounded nice.

Waylon smiled again. Something in Eddie’s question settled him down.

“Look, I’m saying that I am going out for some stuff tonight and, yeah, I’d think it’d be nice if you tagged along. I like you. I’m new to the city. I’m not good at talking to people, as...I’m sure you recognized. Plus, I have a feeling my friend’s cousin is going to enjoy making me her middle man.”

He stepped back, still smiling, if nervous and antsy.

“How about this? I’ll stop being a basket case, let you get back to what you’re doing. If you decide you’re up for my offer, I’ll be here in three hours heading out. If I see you, I see you. If not, that’s...okay too.”

And how he really hoped the ‘not’ wasn’t what would come in three hours.

“Sounds like a fair offer,” Eddie agreed, waiting politely until Waylon was back in his apartment before closing his door. He wondered about this neighbour of his. A friend was a nice thing, but it could also backfire massively considering his unconventional pastime activities. He’d have to be careful if he decided to agree to this venture.

Three hours later, on the dot pathetically enough, Waylon was bustling out the door, grateful Miles wasn’t around to see him eager. Of course, he didn’t know Eddie had agreed yet, and thus probably the impetus for him picking out his clothes longer than usual and figuring out what to do with the sandy hair he didn’t do much with.

He convinced himself Eddie was that cool kid in school you couldn’t help wanting to know. Nothing more.

So imagine his smile at seeing Eddie already outside, waiting.

“Eddie,” he said. Enough staring. “I’m glad you decided to come.”

The guy still looked impeccable, looking like he was always going somewhere important.

“Ah...let’s...get going then, shall we? Hope you mind we stop at the store first before the groceries. I’ll try not to get too excited about all the electronics.”

“Whatever you need,” Eddie looked as if he was going to a wedding, or a special occasion at least. Miles might have called him a dapper gentleman if he didn’t live near the weirdo. Sporting a waistcoat and bowtie would definitely make Eddie stand out alongside his large frame and intense eyes.

They left the apartment block in relative silence, and were greeted by no one. As if all the strange tenants had sensed Eddie’s appearance and retreated into their apartments for good measure.

Eddie only began to make conversation once they left the building.

“So, Waylon, may I call you that?” Eddie waited until Waylon nodded before continuing, “it’s kind of rare in our building to make...contact. You sought me out quite...early on. Was it something I said?”

Waylon hadn’t really minded the silence, for once. Normally he craved it but still felt is imposing presence when he was sharing a pace with someone, knowing he should be filling the silence and struggling to really say anything. Guess that’s why he preferred the company of data and wires than people.

“I guess you could say that,” Waylon said. “You know, Miles told me all about the strange neighbors and I saw the twins. I started having this vision that they were all secretly crazy. So when you came out to help me, I was...kind of surprised, in a good way.”

He glanced at Eddie, taking in (again) his presence. They were entering the part of the city people frequented and many cast peek at the large, handsome man.

“Plus, you stand out. You’re, well, you’re really good-looking and polite. It’s a rare combo these days. Then, I saw you accepting the food I was leaving you and...it made me glad. That’s really it, to be honest. I know it sounds kind of dumb.”

He hesitated before adding, “Does that mean you don’t really have any friends here either?”

“Ah,” Eddie looked uncomfortable, especially when the stares of women hit him. Funny that, really, considering how suave he could be when he wished to murder them. But Waylon knew nothing of that and far be it from Eddie to reveal his terrible secrets.

“I don’t really, no. I work from home, so I don’t spend much time outside. I just...can’t seem to make connections all that easily.”

Waylon nodded as they entered the electronics store.

“I guess we have that in common then, huh?” he said, taking no ill thought of Eddie having little friends. Just because he had that charisma didn’t mean he had to be popular. Maybe he had bad experiences with people in the past.

Curious, but not one to pry, Waylon allowed the hum of technology to guide him through the store. He side-tracked a few times, making faces and commenting on how overpriced the stuff was when people could do it on their own.

He didn’t even recognize all the stares Eddie was getting. Out of place, indeed.

“And then they say they don’t take your information but they do. I’ve hacked into plenty of-Oh. Sorry. I’m boring you, aren’t I? I am, don’t say otherwise. You’re polite. You wouldn’t say it aloud.”

Ears red, he grabbed the wires he came for. “Feel free to take me to a fabrics store as retribution.”

Eddie had sort of tagged along, followed Waylon on his little quest through the electronics. Not that Eddie spent much time browsing these sorts of stores, but he was kind of interested in what Waylon said. It revealed a lot about a man if one babbled of one’s passions. Waylon was refreshingly unguarded, open about things. Eddie liked that.

At the thought of retribution though, he knew exactly where to take Waylon.

“You shouldn’t have offered me that, Waylon. But I have been wanting to visit the store for a while now.”

Once they left the electronics, Eddie guided them with a firm, quick step. Right to a bridal dress shop.

Waylon had to pump a little more effort into his legs to catch up to Eddie’s stride. Not a nuisance in the slightest if it meant he was still claiming the night’s errands with Eddie. He was still smiling, taking Eddie’s tone about offense lightly. Was this what it was like to like another person? A general likeness toward another guy. Lisa didn’t really fit into that category.

He almost paused at the bridal shop, but remembered Eddie’s profession. He stepped in after him, bombarded with whites and creams and all the shades in between. Veils, detailing fabrics, even tiaras winked his way. 

“Wow,” he said, head turning and tilting this way and that as he took it all in. “There sure are a lot of shades of white in here.”

Eddie actually chuckled at that, following Waylon’s gaze, “Actually, that’s not white. That’s champagne. And definitely last season. It’s probably on the sale rack.”

He turned to point out more subtleties to Waylon, and by the end of his little introduction, there was not a single white dress in the shop. He really understood his craft.

“Mr Gluskin!” the sales girl, who wore a rather elegant short dress and looked like she belonged at a cocktail party in a country club finally responded to the two men in the midst of the dresses.

“Mr Gluskin, do you want me to get the manager? She’s in the back, measuring a customer.”

Eddie waved off the attention, seemed embarrassed by it.

“Ah, there’s no need, Ms Summers. I’ll just wait until she’s finished. If you’d be so kind as to tell her I’m here though? About the new line...”

“Of course, of course Mr Gluskin. Right away. And can I just say, when I get married, I will spend all my savings on one of your dresses!”

Waylon had listened, at first daunted that nothing was actually ‘white’, and then fascinated at the array of colors Eddie coaxed into his vision. He began to notice the differences from dress to dress, and even picked on neck shapes. Who knew there was a sweetheart neckline?

All in all, it left him a little breathless at how smoothly Eddie illustrated his craft. At the girl’s voice, he turned, smiled in coy greeting. So Eddie was respected here. Figures.

To both of them, he asked, “Do your dresses really go for so much? I’ve heard wedding dresses are usually starting in the low thousands so…” He pinched his face in concentration, estimating. “Okay, my guess is they go for, on average...er...eight grand?”

The girl gave him a pitying look and a little giggle, bobbing her head at Eddie before she disappeared through the door to the back. 

Eddie took it in good humour, smiled a friendly little smile for Waylon as he let his eyes wander over one of the centerpiece dresses.

“Maybe something a little less hand-tailored, yes. I don’t usually go under fifteen thousand. And that’s a bargain, for a unique dress.”

“Fi...Fifteen…”

At that, Waylon saw the room tilt. He pressed a hand to his forehead and applied what he’d learn into something that made more sense. Fifteen grand per dress? Holy shit. 

“Holy,” he felt both pale and flushed, “I...had no idea. I hope I didn’t insult you, but...Jesus, Eddie, what the hell are you doing in a place like that? I bet you could afford a mansion! Or...maybe a castle!”

Eddie gave a little grimace, almost as if he was uncomfortable with the subject of money. Well, considering what else he spent it on, it should be.

“I’m not really the luxuriant type. Also it takes a long time to make a dress, sometimes the brides don’t like what I do, and then it’s a lot of wasted time and material. I don’t make two dresses alike.” He fingered the stitching of the display piece, dissatisfied with it.

“And there’s...some other things I spend on. My...mother’s in therapy. She doesn’t have anything, so I support her fully.”

Waylon deflated, realizing he’d fumble like an idiot. Of course there was a reason Eddie stayed where he stayed, and he had no right to intrude or assume otherwise. He reached out and touched Eddie’s shoulder without thinking on it.

“Crap, I’m sorry, Eddie. I didn’t mean to make you bring that up. I got a little too excited,” he stepped closer, not wanting anyone to hear. “That’s really...great of you though. Taking care of your mom like that. Not many people would do that. Makes me like you a heck of a lot more than I do now.”

His hand still rested on Eddie’s shoulder. “Maybe one day you can show me one of your dresses and blow my mind so I don’t say dumb stuff like that again.”

“Maybe I’ll fit you for one of my dresses one day,” Eddie said in a tone too serious to rouse laughter from Waylon. When the uncomfortable silence extended long enough for the tailor to notice, he looked uncertain.

“That...was supposed to be a joke. I guess I shouldn’t consider a career in comedy, huh?”

Something like a chill crept up Waylon’s back at the joke. Must have been a breeze filtering through, he decided, shaking it off. He withdrew his hand and laughed for Eddie’s sake.

“It’s okay. After this, I’ll make you a nice meal, just once more for my stupid mouth.” He stayed close though, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I mean it though when I say I think it’s neat what you do. I never realized how much went into it and how little you can get out of it, with...Bridezillas and the like. If I ever get married I’ll never be like that, that much I can say now.”

“That’s what grooms always say. Sometimes, they come with their brides, with this reluctant grip on their wallets,” Eddie seemed happy the conversation could be carried past the awkward pause, “They’ll say exactly what you do. I don’t want this to be some kind of bridezilla monster wedding, just something personal, small. Heh. But if your bride convinced you to come to me, you’re already dealing with a bridezilla.”

Waylon shrugged, conceding that point with a shake of his head.

“That’s probably very true. But I doubt that’ll be happening. Not sure there’s a right girl for me,” he said, unsure if he should extend the information about his lack of sexual preference. “But hey, Lisa always joked I’d be the bride anyway so I guess that’d make me the bridezilla, huh, since I’d come to you?”

Eddie almost bit his tongue off trying to stop another comment about Waylon in one of his dresses. He would cut a beautiful figure, with his slender limbs and fine features...

“I would give you a friendly discount, certainly,” Eddie smiled again for Waylon, but was shortly thereafter engaged in enthusiastic conversation with the manager of the store. Ms Summers zoned Waylon out a little, offering him a drink.

She handed him a glass of champagne.

“So, are you...Mr Gluskin’s...plus one?”

Waylon accepted the drink, feeling he handled it as well as one would expect of him. Least it wasn’t early so he handled taking a few sips, forcing down a cringe. 

“Plus one?” Waylon licked his lips and tried another sip, out of politeness’ sake. “Yeah, sure. We were doing some shopping, still need to get things for dinner, and he decided to show me this place. It’s really nice. You guys must handle really high profile clients.”

“Having a nice dinner, visiting a bridal store...Mr Gluskin must be very taken with you,” Ms Summers smiled, delighted and a little disappointed.

“You’re a lucky guy. I heard your estimate at dress prices....you really don’t know how famous Mr Gluskin’s dresses are? There are women who’d kill for him to take their commision.”

Waylon wasn’t sure about being taken. He might have connected the dots sooner were he not occupied blending (trying) with a crowd of a higher caliber than his own.

“Kill for him? Given what I hear, it must be true,” he said, smiling at Eddie. “To be honest, I really don’t know. I never really paid attention to fashion, less so with weddings but now that I’m going to a wedding...never too late to learn, right?”

He glanced at his phone, being sure Miles hadn’t messaged him.

“So I guess that means you only take a few clients a year, huh?” he asked. “Do you guys sell his dresses too? I heard something about a line…”

Ms Summers seemed a little confused, since Waylon was definitely not answering that part she was interested in at all, but smoothly continued.

“Not exactly. We buy designs from Mr Gluskin and make lines out of them. They always sell well. But they’re not made by him, and if you saw a dress made by him...you’d throw this entire store away as dishrags.” She seemed very enthusiastic and sighed.

“I only hope I won’t be too old before I can afford a Gluskin original. You will probably get one for free for your big day, hm?”

Waylon acknowledged the way their business worked, though he didn’t quite see how Eddie makes designs yet not make the dress? Another part of fashion he didn’t know or need to really know about.

At the mentioning of a free gown, he laughed lightly.

“Free? Given how much they go for, I doubt that, even if Eddie was being really generous, huh?” he said, looking at the designer. 

Then it dawned on him. 

Redness overcame his pale complexion.

“O-Oh…! You mean...Oh. I, er...we’re not...engaged if that’s what you...thought.”

“Oh!” hope rekindled in her eyes at that and she had the decency to blush, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to presume...It just sounded like...Mr Gluskin never has any company, that’s all, and I was...Oh I am so sorry.”

She almost smiled, beamed with girlish excitement though.

“So you are a friend of Mr Gluskin. That’s...almost better. Could you tell me what he likes to do? I’d really like to ask him for a...a date.” 

Waylon mentally stumbled over that admission. How far she was from asking the wrong guy about that kind of thing. Still, he didn’t have it in him to be the extinguisher of her spark.

“Sorry, I really don’t know him that well. But, I figure if you like someone, you should just,” he waved at nothing in particular, “go on and ask them.”

He pointedly overlooked that’s exactly what he had done.

God, he was getting fidgety. 

“Sorry, again, but you’ll have to excuse me. Running kind of late,” he said, stepping away and placing the champagne awkwardly where it wouldn’t risk staining anything. “Eddie? We should go to the store. You want to eat tonight, right?”

Eddie had been deep in conversation with the manager, but Waylon’s voice pulled him from it in an instant. He apologized to the older woman, who just waved and returned back to the measuring she had to do.

“Sorry, of course, we can get going.”

“Mr Gluskin?”

“Ah, yes? Ms Summers?”

Apparently, the young woman was ready to take Waylon’s advice to heart, because she put on her cutest smile (and she was very, very cute) and asked straight out.

“Would you like to have dinner with me? Maybe on friday?”

Eddie looked extremely uncomfortable, glancing at Waylon for help, then at the centerpiece that had been bothering him the whole time they’d been here.

“...You’re very direct, aren’t you? Sure.”

She let out a delighted whoop, promising to phone her address and a time to Eddie later before she practically bounced back behind the counter. Eddie bid her farewell and left with Waylon.

Waylon smiled weakly at her enthusiasm. He couldn’t help wonder why he didn’t feel all that thrilled for her. Rather, he felt a little nauseated. He was glad to be outside in the crisp air.

As they resumed walking, he dug his hands deeper into his pockets.

“She seems head over heels for you. Looks like a lot of women feel that way about you.” Strange pause. “You...like her, then?”

“Oh, good heavens, not like that, no.” Eddie seemed familiar with this kind of situation, resigned even. He sighed and decided to explain himself.

“It’s the dresses they fall for, head over heels. They like to project that onto me. I know that now, and I can forgive these sl-” he cleared his throat, “forgive them for that. I didn’t used to. Actually thought they really liked me, for me. No, I will take her to dinner, and she will see I am not her type at all. We’ll part slightly embarrassed and for the wiser. It’s the quickest way to kill such infatuation.”

Waylon straightened at that. So Eddie was doing them both a favor by exposing her infatuation with what he did, not who he really was. Made sense. It must take a lot out of him though, considering this wasn’t the first time.

He didn’t notice the slip in tongue, too occupied sneaking glances as they finally arrived at the market. Once there, he grabbed a cart and said.

“Well, I like you. A lot, and I haven’t seen even one of your dresses.”

That certainly cheered Eddie and revealed more of Waylon he genuinely liked. This guy would be a great friend and companion. Eddie could tell.

“I’m not sure they’re as charming as your home-cooked delicacies. My heart is rather touched through my stomach, rather than the eye.”

Another attempt a humour that went awry.

Waylon accepted it, and rolled with it even.

“Then I better make a fine good meal tonight, hm? Maybe some dessert too. I’ve been wanting to try out something big like...a pie, or such. With all the work I do I could use more kitchen projects to de-stress.”

He was oblivious to how much of a couple they projected to the rest of the shoppers, what with Eddie so dashing and Waylon leaning close to share a view of an ingredient or two. It was quaint, peaceful even.

Waylon didn’t think he’d have so much fun grocery shopping.

“God, look at these,” he said, shaking a box of cookies. “I bet your clients are starved for these, hm? Well, they’re crap anyway. I never really got into a lot of junk food. If anything, I have to make it myself.” He blushed faintly. “My mom’s big on home made meals, thinks that’s the foundation of a good family. I guess it really rubbed off on me.”

“She sounds like a great mother,” Eddie approved, though he poked the cookies into the cart anyway. He had a sweet tooth, and it would be indulged, Waylon’s healthy habits be dashed.

“You’re very...good at cooking, and homely things. You’d make a great wife. I know a tailor for your dress, if you find yourself a groom.”

Waylon grinned, liking this attempt at humor. For most it might have flown off the mark, but to him it fit, and he was eager to laugh at it. He let the cookies be put in, but shook his head.

“I’ll make you a proper batch of cookies and you’ll see you’ve been living a lie eating these.” He scowled, in good fun. “You and Lisa would get along great sharing that sentiment. I doubt there’s a groom out there for me...I guess I want a family but...never think much of it.”

He pulled the cart along. “What about you? You deal with wedding stuff all the time. Does it get you thinking about your own?”

“Oh, no no, no.” Eddie lost the merriment he had a moment ago, browsing along the shelves for snacks or the sight of other shoppers. Plenty of them seemed to be watching them though, which could be a cause for concern.

“No, I want a girl...just like, this is going to sound creepy, I suppose. I want a girl like the one that married dear old dad.”

It was an obscure reference and Eddie was one hundred percent sure that Waylon wasn’t going to get it.

“A good, old-fashioned girl with a pure and true heart. But I haven’t found her yet.”

Waylon tilted his head at the explanation. Despite his initial wariness of the reply, it made sense the more he settled with it. Eddie looked like he had the values of a quieter, politer time. It’d only make sense he had a girl that matched that.

“You’ll find her,” he said at last, as Eddie surveyed shelves. “You’ll make a great groom too. She’ll be really lucky, whoever you decide to take on as a wife. Plus, she’ll look fantastic in one of your dresses, right?”

“You’re just saying that because you know they cost 15 grand each,” Eddie actually laughed, and it was a deep, wonderful sound. He was enjoying this company, even though they were only out grocery shopping. Who knew having a friend could brighten up such dull, tedious tasks?

“Alright, you have me convinced. I will show you one of my dresses. But dinner first, yes?”

Waylon’s delight accelerated once again. With a nod, he hurried the cart to the checkout lane. They distributed the bags, Waylon slightly embarrassed that Eddie easily took a greater burden than he.

He might have had a bounce in his step on their way back.

“Are you okay with me cooking at your place, then?” he asked. “I...er...Miles has a strict rule about inviting people over.”

“Oh, he does?” Eddie contemplated that statement for a lengthy moment. It would explain a few encounters with the rather inquisitive neighbour he wasn’t fond of having. 

But Waylon in his place? Certainly something he might like to see. Too often was his kitchen devoid of real cooking artistry, since cooking for himself was always more of a chore than a treat.

“Not a problem at all. I would relish the company, honestly.”

Satisfied and brimming with anticipation, Waylon walked a little faster and hauled up the stairs with more vigor than before. He had to slow down for Eddie to open the door, which he patiently awaited, peeking his head this way and that to get a glimpse as the door cracked open.

“I hope you don’t mind your kitchen being entirely used,” he said, “but I’ll clean it up.”

Then,he was scurrying in at last.


	4. Chapter 4

Eddie allowed Waylon free access to his apartment, safe in the knowledge that he was a meticulous cleaner and Waylon not a snooping reporter like his roommate. Eddie’s apartment was furnished a little old-fashioned, but very comfortable and not too exuberant. 

A large gramophone dominated a corner of the living room, in its center two mannequins that bore half-made fabric cuts, pinned in place with notes attached. Eddie had a small TV, a large seat and a shelf packed with books. The other wall was entirely lined with boxes labelled with various fabrics, and those shelves stretched through a missing doorway into what could only be assumed to be Eddie’s actual workroom. 

There were no pictures on his walls, and not too much colour variation.

His kitchen was impeccable though, and that might prove how little he actually used it.

“My home is yours,” Eddie chuckled as he deposited the bags.

It wasn’t much of a home.

Waylon kept moving to deposit the bags on the kitchen island. This part of the room was the most pristine and proof that his food had gone to good use. Eddie must not cook for himself much, or...did much at all. There were his fabrics, testament to his work, and beyond that no suggestion that he held anything precious to him, no family photos, no other hobbies.

Bare, lonely, isolated almost. The feeling pulled at Waylon’s heart. All this time he thoughts he had it bad with sticking to four walls and his laptop. At least he had Lisa’s exploits and, well, there was little comparing this to Miles’ place.

“Thanks,” he said as an afterthoughts.

Right.

He had to remedy this.

“Be right back,” he said.

In a few, quick minutes he returned, apron on, sleeves rolled up, and with a few extra pieces of essential equipment. He grinned.

“You stay put. Leave it all to me.”

-x-

Waylon didn’t think he’d ever work so hard on a meal. He diced, sliced, churned, tested, pre-heated, stirred, and a slew of other things that required multi-tasking. He’d all but bullied Eddie to stay at the little table he owned, bringing him chilled water with an appetizer as the main meal commenced.

He didn’t talk much during his work. Much like Miles on a lead, he tended to be quiet and focused on his task of remembering to take out the pie in half an hour, turn the plantains in ten minutes…

By the time dinner was officially served, Waylon had to appreciate his masterpieces. He’d set a meal fit for royalty, at least he liked to think. He’d been sure to include spices, add details that wasn’t so much fine dining as it was a homey touch.

“Phew,” he said, sitting beside Eddie instead of across the table. “Well, I can now say you’re free to dig in! Don’t worry, eat up. I made enough to bring to Miles later.”

Watching Waylon dominate his kitchen had been as much a treat for Eddie as the meal itself would be. The flat just seemed so much more comfortable with the friendly neighbour, Eddie’s first friend, filling it with life, and with warmth.

Waylon would be the most fantastic housewife, Eddie was quite sure of it. Or househusband, rather. He was warm and friendly and chatty and it felt good to be busy with someone who didn’t want anything from him.

Eddie found himself relaxed, even having fun as he put on records and suitably distracted Waylon with conversation and a few more tries at humour. Not that they went any better than before, but Eddie tried.

He kind of wished Waylon would stay forever, not just dinner.

“You’re a wonderful guest and a spectacular cook. Thank you Waylon, really.”

Waylon didn’t know he was capable of preening. Now he did, knowing his face stayed a soft pink, and not just because of all the heat from cooking. He felt more than accomplished, like he could smile all week now despite what shit might come his way.

He thought only pushing his abilities in software engineering could make him feel like that.

“I’m glad you think so. Cooking isn’t that different from what I do...I have to have precision with my hands, need the right tools to get the outcome I want. But I found out I like cooking more when I’m making it for someone else than me. Weird, huh?”

He scooted closer to the table, grabbing his napkin.

“Besides, you really are a guy who needs the comfort of a homemade meal. I have a feeling you rely too much on boxed stuff and once you take a bite into this stuff, I’m sure you’re going to have a hard time going back. Oh! That reminds me.”

He pushed away quickly and saved the cookies on time. The alarm rung, a soft ‘ding’, as he pulled them out, fanning them as he called back to Eddie.

“My mom use to make these. Brownie vanilla cookies. You scoop a little ice cream on them, but you’re going to have to wait until dessert.”

“You really think of everything, don’t you?” Eddie was definitely charmed with this domestic wonder Waylon was turning out to be. Could he be hired to cook? Maybe? He’d even work that gown for half-price if Waylon kept him company and made meals like this.

“It’s kind of surprising you haven’t been snapped up by a bridezilla looking for the perfect house-husband.”

At that, Waylon’s stomach lurched. What was he doing, preparing a feast for someone he barely knew, someone that his roommate believed to be a weirdo aficionado? Jesus, Miles was right. He had a crush on this guy.

Doing a terrible job of ignoring that realization, Waylon settled back next to Eddie, aware of how close their thighs were.

“I...guess I’m too much of an introvert for them to bother knowing I am a computer genius and moderate cook. Plus, I, ah...okay, I hope this doesn’t bum you out but I’ve never really...been with anyone.”

“Why should that bum me out?” Eddie was patiently awaiting permission to eat more, in particular the dessert. There was at least one thing about Eddie Gluskin that Waylon could be sure of. He had impeccable manners.

“I myself am terrible at relationships. I’m always looking for the perfect girl, and that makes me...picky. I could have settled some time ago...but I keep...I’m blathering.”

How Eddie just kept assuaging each of Waylon’s social fears astounded him as much as it left him smiling the most genuine smile he ever had. He didn’t smile too much as it was so his cheeks throbbed faintly from all the effort.

“You’re not blathering. I get it. You are waiting for the right one instead of rushing. I appreciate that.” Waylon, recognizing now that Eddie was being polite, treated him to more food, including dessert. “Glad to know I’m not the only socially awkward one. Not sure why Miles thought you were a weirdo. A rarity is more like it.”

His gaze ticked over Eddie’s ever-perfect hair. “Which reminds me...could I see your work space?”

For a horrifying moment, Eddie thought Waylon meant his extra-vocational workspace, in which case he’d be showing his new friend the abandoned wing of the asylum that contained too many bodies to be anything else than a murder show.

But he was a tailor first, amateur serial killer second. 

“Right, I promised you a show, didn’t I?”

Eddie lead him to his workroom, which was crammed with lidded boxes of fabric, lined with shelves to hold said boxes, two sewing machines, one old and beautiful, the other new and industrial looking. And the mannequins.

Three were sat in the middle of the room, each with a dress in various stages of being finished. The center was merely held together by needles, and the one to the left had barely taken dress shape.

But the one on the right was almost finished, and absolutely stunning. A bride’s dream in crystal champagne and ivory.

Waylon didn’t know what to expect besides multitudes of fabric that weren’t just white. Upon entering the room, he liked it; Eddie branded himself in here with his work, so unlike the neglected living space and kitchen. This was clearly where Eddie labored for most of the day.

Approaching carefully, Waylon took him time studying everything, especially the dresses. Eddie had been right about taking few clients at a time. That last dress though.

“Wow, Eddie,” he breathed, not daring to touch the dress. It looked like it was thrumming with elegance and royalty. “This is...I’m not into cross-dressing but jeez, even I’d wear that. Look at it. That’s amazing.”

“You think so?” Eddie seemed to be hesitating before he took any real pride in the words Waylon praised his work with. His gaze on the dress was skeptical, even though it was pretty much a finished work and the bride it belonged to already paid well over fifteen thousand for it.

“If I ever find a bride for myself...I’d make her a dress five times as stunning.”

Waylon didn’t know if a dress could be more stunning than the one he saw now. Then again what did he know about wedding gowns? Still, he nodded as if he understood.

“I hope I’m around still to see how that’s even possible. You really are amazing at this, Eddie,” he said, gently nudging the other man’s shoulder. “You should take more pride in it. You seem embarrassed. I know she’s going to be head over heels with whatever you make for my friend’s cousin’s wedding.”

“I just don’t...usually show my work to friends. Well, I don’t really...have any friends, so you’re a first in many ways,” Eddie seemed even more embarrassed by that and stepped over to the right mannequin, fiddling so he didn’t have to meet Waylon’s eyes, “your friend Lisa...she is just that? Nothing more? Tell me if I am prying too much.”

Waylon sighed, wanting to deflate into a seat but respecting the workspace too much to do so. So he shrugged and fiddled with the end of his shirt.

“You could say that. She really wants to...be more. We dated a few months but I’m not sure it was going to work out so I asked if we could stick to being friends. She’s still not dropping the subject.”

He flashed a wider, more confident smile. “It’s easier telling you that than trying to explain it to mutual friends. I’m glad you showed me your work too. It was...a really good night. If you want, we should totally do it again if you’re interested?”

“Definitely. I really enjoy your company, Waylon,” Eddie seemed fairly genuine on that statement and to be perfectly honest, he was more than a little pleased with his new neighbour. Waylon was polite, well-mannered, talented in the kitchen and interested in Eddie’s work. Interested in Eddie all-together, really.

Was the evening spent already? For a brief moment, Eddie felt the irrational fear of Waylon leaving his apartment meaning leaving him. Silly of him, really. He did live right next door.

Speaking of next door, Miles was waiting outside of his and Waylon’s mutual apartment, looking extremely anxious when his roommate appeared out of Eddie’s door.

“I had a wonderful evening. Thank you, Waylon.”

Eddie wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to embrace a male friend, so he sort of waited awkwardly.

Waylon had gathered up Miles’ share of the dinner, and typically would require two arms to handle. Yet when Eddie paused, unsure how to say good-bye, Waylon rolled his eyes and chuckled.

Burdening one arm with the container, he used the other to tug Eddie a little closer, coyness ebbing in layers, as he half-embraced his newfound friend. Friend. He liked the sound of it.

“Likewise. See you soon,” he said, turning and spotting his roommate. “Oh. Hey.”

He glanced down at his the covered food, suddenly feeling like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Er, sorry I’m a little late. I, uh...made dinner over at Eddie’s place.”

“Yeah, sure, come on man I’m starving.” Miles waved at Waylon to get into their apartment, keeping a suspicious eye on Eddie until the man closed the door to his lonely home.

“Waylon, are you nuts?”

Was the first accusation that shot out of Miles’ mouth. Gone were his thoughts of food and a lazy evening spent with his roommate. No, clearly, Waylon needed some wisdom on what was health and safety in the Mount Massive Apartments. Number one rule, do not enter any apartment but your own.

“Seriously? You were alone with him, in his flat?”

Waylon fought the need to grimace; he circumvented confrontation since he was a kid, and it felt worse that the ire came from someone he liked quite a bit. He shrugged through the gesture and set the food down, grateful to keep his hands busy and not have to look at Miles.

“Yeah, so? We went to get groceries together. He even showed me the bridal shop that takes his line or something like that. Did you know his dresses on average go for fifteen grand?” He looked up, eyes sparkling, and recalled Miles’ irritation. “I’m not a damsel, Miles. He’s...really nice. I was alone with him and nothing happened. If anything, I had a great time with him.”

“Oh my god, you think you’re having a Cinderella story, aren’t you?” Miles was both angry and hungry, and at least one of these he could remedy. With the food Waylon cooked halfway between his mouth and the plate, he still had time to frown at his roommate.

“Your crush is serious, huh? You dig those lonely, creepy rich men, don’t you? Shit, Waylon, I’m not trying to rain on your parade, but there’s some things about Eddie Gluskin you need to know. For one, he must have a shit ton of exes, because I’ve seen girls go in and out of his place like it’s a foodtruck for hookers. And trust me, them girls ain’t coming in for dresses. I hear ‘em sometimes too. Our bathroom is next to his bedroom, and you can hear Mr Gluskin go to town at night.”

Waylon’s face contorted to relay his physical disgust. He didn’t know if Miles was pulling his leg to encourage a life away from Eddie, but regardless, it did something nasty to his stomach. He swallowed, considered if Miles was lying. 

He didn’t really think so despite his interest in Eddie. He wanted to say it wasn’t a crush, but knew a pointless alley of conversation when he saw one.

“I don’t...dig lonely, creepy rich ones,” he almost pouted, hesitant. “I don’t know, Miles. He seems like a legit old fashion kind of guy. Makes sense he’d live here where that won’t bother anyone. Most people aren’t so great after all…”

He looked down at the empty container.

“I think...you might be overreacting. Did you guys have a bad fight or something?”

“Why do you keep thinking that? That’s the second time you’ve brought it up...” Miles was disappointed the container was already empty. He could have had seconds and thirds and fourths.

“Look...we’ve had situations. With girls mostly. Like...you don’t want to know. I didn’t want to tell you since you like the guy, but some of the things I’ve seen...how he treats them...You just kind of lose faith in a guy’s good side when he’s chasing scared girls out of his apartment, calling them whores and sluts and waving with scissors like crazy. Honestly, I’ve thought about calling the fuzz on him every time he has a girl over.”

Now that piqued Waylon’s already intense fascination on Eddie Gluskin. Legs feeling heavy, he dragged over to sit beside Miles, only after pulling out leftovers the journalist easily overlooked and warming it up. Then, offering the food, he scrutinized Miles’ words.

It didn’t sound like he was lying.

“But...maybe they were difficult customers. They’re bridezillas, I could get it if he got upset.” He tapped his lips. “That’s kind of scary…”

He glanced at Miles, puffed out his chest a little, his enchantment with the tailor overpowering fear and Miles’ warning.

“I’ll just ask him about it when I see him Friday night. I bet it can be explained, even if I don’t think it’s okay to talk to anyone like that. I’ll see for myself and--Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m not crushing! I...want to make my own opinion. It’s not like I’m bringing him over. If you’re really that worried, you could just keep tabs on me during the night, text me and I’ll text back or something.”

“I can’t believe you’re taking him on a date,” Miles wanted to throw his hands into the air, pray for the fool who invited danger into his life in the form of their neighbour. 

“Weren’t you listening? I can tell the difference between a woman who comes to him for a fifteen grand dress and someone who probably doesn’t make more than forty bucks a night if she’s lucky. I’m telling you Waylon, Eddie’s got skeletons in his closet and I’d recommend you don’t rattle the doors.”

Waylon huffed, unable to help himself. Miles proved to be a good damper on his pleasant mood. Whatever he saw wasn’t enough to label Eddie anything, and Waylon wanted to determine for himself. Miles might be the journalist, but he liked Eddie, that much he knew.

“It’s not a date,” he said, grumbling at Miles’ hands because he didn’t want to meet his gaze. “Look, I’m not going to bring him over or anything like that. I just want to see what he’s like more. If something turns up, you’ll be the first to know and you can shove it in my face all you want.”

He spoke with a ferocity foreign to himself. His skin thrummed with the need to act. So, before Miles could damper his mood further, he shoved away from the table, threw an ‘I’ll be back’, and left.

It was getting late, but he knocked on Eddie’s door with more oomph than ever before.

When the door opened this time, Eddie looked like he’d just rushed out of the shower, what with the towel wrapped around him and his hair slick with water.

“Waylon? Did you forget something?” polite as ever, despite the worried crease on his forehead.

Don’t look down, eyes up, eyes up.

Waylon peeked down, shot his eyes back up, aware he was going as red as his skin could tolerate. He licked his lips, cleared his throat, and stood straighter.

“Sorry for the bother, but no. Actually, yes. I forgot to ask. I mean, properly ask something.” He inhaled deeply. “Friday we’re supposed to hang out. It’s not just that. I...ask you out on Friday. Like on a date. You and...well, us.”

“Oh,” Eddie didn’t know how to handle this curveball thrown his way. Sure, Waylon was wonderful friend material, but date? With a man? Eddie wasn’t sure he could get into that, his mental picture had always firmly been a woman, despite the fact he could easily see Waylon in a dress. But children...

Perhaps they could adopt? Make some miserable creature happy by giving it a good home? Eddie’s mind spun out a future before even having this first date with Waylon in the first place.

“Uhm. Well. Do you want to do something...special? Date-like? I’m terribly...sorry, I have no experience dating men.”

It wasn’t a full-blown rejection. Waylon relaxed and felt his chest open up more. Speaking of chests, his eyes dragged down again. It required effort to force them back up to Eddie’s face before he made a fool of himself.

“Special. Yeah.” Waylon considered it. What would be special for them?

“I think we can skip the movie theaters. They’re nasty. I don’t mind...cooking again. You seem to like that. I’m not very experienced in this either. Oh, there’s something going on downtown. A fair or...something. We could wander around there for a bit, just for some fresh air and...we could come back here. If that sounds...okay?”

“That sounds reasonably low-key and sensible for a first...date.” Eddie swallowed, and he seemed nervous, which was an odd look for a big, muscley man in a towel, standing in his doorway confronted by someone half his body-mass.

“I just realized that you must...have decided today that you’d like to try dating you. I must have left quite the impression,” Eddie nodded his head at nothing in particular, and smiled for Waylon.

“It’s quite the compliment.”

Waylon understood the expression of melting into butter. A shiver kept him from totally collapsing but it did disturb the foundation of his self. He understood it was pure physical reaction more than anything else, but when he was starved of anything sexual, it was a massive beast when let loose.

He coughed and shrugged.

“Yeah,” he said, not wanting to bring up Miles at that time. “So...uh...Friday. At eight. I’ll wait here for you and...jeez, I’m just going...to go inside because you’re technically naked and,” he coughed instead of laughed, staggered back to his door and rushed in.

Upon seeing Miles seeming to mourn over the finished meal, he sighed and gathered some wit back. 

Before Miles could accuse him of having done anything Eddie-related, he snatched the journalist’s plate way. “If you stop being a dick and put on a movie, I’ll be willing to make you a quick, third dinner.”

Miles was pleased for that, but he’d already silently decided he needed to follow this date on friday, for Waylon’s safety. Even if his roomie would flip a table if he spotted him. But Miles had his back, whether Waylon would like it or not.


	5. Chapter 5

Friday rolled around quicker than anyone expected. It was ten to eight, and Eddie was already finished with everything he could possibly prepare. His apartment was spotless, his clothes and hair impeccable, and he was wiping sweat from his hands yet again. Ten more minutes, and he’d go on his first date with a man.

Once when he was thirteen, Waylon tried to ask out a guy from his English class. He didn’t get that far, ultimately failing to pass a note along to him and, instead, tipping his desk over too much so that his face landed in the guy’s lap.

With that founding his attempts (or lack thereof) of meeting other people in that way, Waylon stepped out. He was all nerves, hoping he wasn’t underdressed. Jeans, button down shirt, light jacket. He had tried to do something to his hair…

“Oh.”

He almost forgot Eddie would be there, exactly at eight.

He smiled and tried to pretend the weight of his world crushed his shoulders.

“You look great. But you always do,” he said, starting their descent. Again, no one bothered them, no one even sounded nearby. It’s like they knew when Eddie stepped out and hid.

“Oh,” he began once they reached fresh air, “so the fair is a multi-cultural fair. So there will be dancing and the like, and games. Maybe we get to win something big. I’ll win you something. I’ve decided.”

“There’s no need,” Eddie muttered, walking with Waylon with an awkward step to his gait. He really didn’t know what to do on a date with a guy, moreso one that was his newly acquired friend. Eddie prayed he didn’t mess this up. He still wasn’t sure what the best way to gently decline Waylon’s interest in him was. He didn’t want to outright reject him, no, his neighbour was too sweet, too perfect for that. But Waylon was a man, and as such, he possessed some parts that Eddie could not stand to have in his sexlife. Not because he found the idea repulsive of sleeping with Waylon, but because men had...a rather terrible impact on his life.

But he couldn’t say that of course. For now, he would revel in Waylon’s company.

“Do we....what do men do on dates with each other? I’m so sorry, this is my first time...”

Waylon glanced at Eddie, studying him a moment, then smiling to assuage any concerns of his neighbor.

“It’s just like any other date, Eddie. The only difference is that we’re both guys. Just do what feels...right,” he said, hoping that made sense. Between the two of them, he suddenly felt an expert in the field.

He pointed to the colors radiating in the distance, the source of the hum of music.

“Look, see how all the other couples are acting? Walking, talking, probably playing games. It’s nothing intense. If you get nervous, just let me know. I’m...crazy nervous right now. I want you to like me the way I am liking you, after all.”

It was one thing to say such things. Better to lead by example maybe.

“Okay, so, I’ll do some talking, given that you’re more...private. I’ve never been out, but had fantasies about it. Winning you something definitely meets that. Let’s see...I’ve had a total of maybe three crushes on other men, one on a girl, but that didn’t last long. How about you?”

Waylon’s casual chattering certainly helped Eddie relax. It wasn’t so bad, or complicated right? People did it all the time. Why should Eddie mess it up when other men managed so easily and women did it all the time.

“I...I’ve never had a crush on anyone, I think,” he thought for a moment, then offered Waylon a coy smile, “maybe in third grade. There was a girl named Anya, and I gave her my only plastic dinosaur. I think that counts as third-grade dating.”

His arm brushed Waylon’s as they walked and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was alright to take his hand. He tried it, daring to be brave.

Waylon was halfway replying when Eddie fumbled for his hand. At first, he thought it a mistake, but that large hand enclosed his, fiddling, and he realized it was no accident. Oh. Well. Definitely what he liked, and unexpected.

He smiled wider, looking at Eddie.

He adjusted their hands, fingers threading. That was okay, right?

“Guess you’re feeling okay so far,” he said a little more privately.

He had a difficult time letting go of Eddie’s hand. For a while, they wandered, Waylon providing most of the chatter, discussing the foods and what he liked or wanted to learn to cook. All the while he held Eddie’s hand, but once he did release it.

For good reason: he saw the largest prize at the fair. It was a plush snake, that would require two people to handle it or let it scrape the ground. Cumbersome, but Waylon had wanted to win the biggest prize.

He reluctantly let Eddie’s hand go to reach for the sack he would have to throw to knock over the pyramid.

Well, he tried. Physical effort had never been his strong point, and after five rounds of forking over his cash, he was breathing a little harder.

“I, uh,” he looked at Eddie. “Guess I should work out more…”

Eddie had liked the hand-holding much more than any prize Waylon could win, but far be it from him to insult Waylon’s efforts. Even if they were adorably predictable, and less than impressive.

He’d been waiting on the side for the entire time, watching Waylon with indulgent eyes, much more interested in the view of his date than the snake that would only inhibit their walking.

“Could I try?”

The vendor certainly seemed happy enough to let Eddie fork over some cash for a try. Now, Eddie stared for a long moment at the pyramid, before heaving the sack over it with ease. Then again, considering he usually heaved bodies, it came as no surprise.

Waylon gaped at the single shot. He recovered first and saw that the vendor’s jaw had gone loose too, as if not expecting anyone to win at what Waylon was beginning to suspect was a rigged game.

Something delightful electrified through Waylon. 

“Wow,” he said, unable to not touch Eddie’s powerful arm. He might have leaned a little into it too, dragged away for a moment when the snake was draped over them. “Well, I hardly won this for you.”

And it was kind of heavy.

He hesitated, then seemed to wait until he noticed Eddie really didn’t mind. So, with some effort, he deposited the enormous gift on a child, who all but grinned that he couldn’t carry what was not his.

Waylon’s hand slipped back into Eddie’s.

“I think he’ll enjoy it more. Plus, I think I got the better prize, hm?” He knew it was a corny line, and it made him go a little pink in the face for even saying it aloud.

“I don’t know, he looks pretty thrilled,” Eddie spoke softly, his eyes on the child with great longing, and great affection. Eddie always knew he wanted children, if only to afford them a better life than his had been.

But his search for the perfect bride was fruitless so far, which was why there was a mass of bodies in the old wing of the Asylum, rotting away as the whores hung for being just that.

Waylon’s hand was warm and small in his, so he enclosed his fingers tighter around it.

“Oh! You were flirting with me, weren’t you? I’m sorry Waylon, I’m terrible at this.”

Waylon had watched the way Eddie watched the child. He knew that look well enough to understand that along with a perfect ‘bride’, Eddie must want children. Another commendable trait in a man, though if he would willingly admit it was another matter.

“Eddie,” he said, reaching with his other hand to touch his neighbor’s face. “Stop worrying so much. I like you. More than I admitted at first, but that’s because I’m not...very good at this either.”

It was suddenly suffocating with all these people. He glanced over to the ferris wheel. Romantic view and alone time with Eddie.

“Come on,” he said, tugging Eddie eagerly, aware that if Eddie came along it was to humor him. Eddie couldn’t be moved if you tried.

Certainly not by a man on the small-ish side such as Waylon. But Eddie moved very willingly for his neighbour, recognizing what they were approaching with increasing haste. Waylon even sort of cut ahead of a whole bunch of teenagers who looked to be in a similar situation. Eddie didn’t hear their jeers or sneers, nor did he particularly care that the ride marshall looked at them with disdain as they got into their seats. This was one of those old ferris wheels with benches rather than whole little boxy cabs, so there would not be any other, disturbing presences.

“You must really love ferris wheels, Waylon.” Eddie chuckled as the wheel began to take them up.

Waylon was all red, but held his head high as the ride rocked them upward at a decent pace. God, he felt like a teenager all over again, hormones once dormant on rampage through him. He had to suck in fresh air to steady himself again.

“I do,” he said, going along with the lie.

He reached over, found Eddie’s hand again, rested it on his thigh so he could hold it comfortably.

“Sorry,” he admitted. “I haven’t...really thought about anyone like that in a while. It sort of took me by surprise is all. Does it...bug you?”

Eddie watched his hand on Waylon’s leg like it was a foreign part of his body. If he wanted to, he could grasp at his thigh, feel the strings of muscle beneath his skin, pry apart those legs to-...He really needed to control his fantasies.

“Of course not. You’re a wonderful man and I am glad you moved in next door to me.”

It was genuine, his pleasure. Waylon was by far the most interesting, and least intimidating man he’d ever met. He didn’t treat Eddie with fear or dislike, and he wasn’t threatened by Eddie’s size. Most men reacted to him with aggression, feeling threatened by his physical presence, rarely by his profession.

Maybe that was another reason he preferred women in all circumstances. And Waylon.

In response to the honest opinion, Waylon’s courage allowed him to lean his head on Eddie’s strong shoulder. It was strangely comfortable.

“Me too. I wonder what your past experiences were like. I know Miles isn’t all that fond of you and...you don’t seem that fond of him, huh?”

Eddie was more concerned with cushioning Waylon’s head properly, making sure he was comfortable. After a moment, he tugged him a little closer, under his arm to lean against him more comfortably after Eddie turned his torso a little. It was something very, very coupley indeed and that pleased Eddie more than anything else. Waylon was so nice, and soft, and a little feminine in a completely wonderful manner. Waylon might be the only man Eddie could ever think of even dating...

“Mr. Upshur hasn’t liked me from the day I moved in, I’m afraid. I think he’s terribly...bored. He still had his job when I first arrived, but lost it shortly after. Ever since then, he’s been peculiar to me.”

Eddie sighed, then actually leaned his head on top of Waylon’s, “I think he’d like to see ghosts and monsters at every turned corner.”

“He’d be thrilled for that, I’m sure. Guess I’m glad I’m his roommate. Can count on him to lead me out, right? I’d be pretty useless.”

He did indeed snuggle up a little closer when Eddie adjusted himself. It worked out as if they had been two pieces misplaced. Eddie’s larger frame with his (often cursed) smaller body. This was not plain neighborly behavior and more like they were in a relationship than courting.

The talk of Miles opened up the nag that had been well repressed until now.

“He said...he has seen and heard you cursing at women from your apartment. I’m not judging and sorry to bring it up, but I’m just curious.” He stayed where he was at, squeezing Eddie’s hand.

“Oh...that’s what he...told you...” Eddie turned quiet, contemplating how best to cover up that part of his life. He didn’t want Waylon to know about it. It would frighten him, scare him away from Eddie and affect his sensibilities. Not to mention kill any possible romance between them at first sprout.

No, no, he couldn’t let Miles’ suspicions get in the way of everything.

“I’m not lucky in the women I attract...I suppose it is my own fault. I just can’t say no to a lady, even if she turns out not to be much of a lady at all. You’ve bore witness to that. I lose my temper...like a brute. I would apologize for it, but those women, they’re out of my life so quickly.”

That made far more sense, and, despite that it was true what Miles bore witness to, it left Waylon sated. He brushed his thumb over Eddie’s hand and looked up at him.

“You know, I’m glad you told me. I was starting to worry you were perfect and then turn out to be a figment of my imagination or an alien or something. Everyone has flaws. A temper can be tamed,” he said with a nod.

Eddie was a man of old values, and it seemed easy to understand how he could leap to calling women whores if they sent him to the edge and had been living a life of opposite values.

“As for me, I can be really stubborn. And I get irritated easily.” He drew Eddie’s hand to his face, stroking the large, yet nimble fingers. “Plus, at the moment, I’m kind of shamelessly thinking of lewd things. My bad.”

“Oh...oh!” Eddie took a moment to distract himself from Waylon’s actions and pay attention to his words. Perfect. Waylon thought he was perfect. For what? Apart from the clear intent on the man’s face. Waylon was serious about this, and he was pursuing him. But for how long? Until his curiosity was satisfied? Eddie didn’t know what to make of things, he almost felt lost.

“Waylon, I...I’m very flattered...but this is our first date, I’m not sure we should...I mean, it would be unsavoury to...”

Waylon blinked, perplexed. His hands stilled on Eddie’s as realization struck him so suddenly he gasped aloud and stuttered over a few forgotten words.

He shook his head and let Eddie go entirely, as though it would break the spell of whatever had allowed Eddie to think Waylon had been plotting--

“No, no, that’s...jeez, I said that aloud, didn’t I? I say things I shouldn’t like that. No, I...I just...my mind gets carried away. I wouldn’t...it’s the first date.”

He swallowed, unable to wiggle away with the ferris wheel constricting him to the spot.

So he managed to find a smile in him, albeit feeble.

“Plus, I know you’re old-fashion. Have to wait for the wedding, right?” he teased, fingers fumbling in his own lap, missing the loss of Eddie’s warmth.

“I don’t...I’m not that old-fashioned,” Eddie cleared his throat. Clearly, he’d been over-analyzing the depth of Waylon’s lewd fantasies, and maybe he ought to just relax and enjoy the rest of the date instead of freaking about some implications.

“Sorry. I ruined the moment...” he muttered, holding out his hand for Waylon to take back into his, if he wished for it.

Waylon looked at him, at the hand, then back at Eddie. It seemed both were prone to stumbling over this first-date business. Maybe they just weren’t cut out for the public aspect of it, not yet.

Waylon didn’t hesitate to slip his hand back into Eddie’s.

“Let’s enjoy the view, clear our heads, and then head back. I think I’d like the rest of the night spent indoors with you. Good meal, talk a little more?”

“Yes, I’d like that too. I’m not so social a person as to enjoy this for long.” Eddie swept out an arm to indicate the entire fairground. But their plans would have to wait, because the ferris wheel ground to a stop with them at the top, and went entirely dark. This was probably not intentional, because some guy at the bottom, the ride marshall in fact, started yelling and running around like an ant on fire.

Eddie frowned, looked at the other passengers and only then noticed they were all too busy to enjoy the prolonged view.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to stop here like this,” he uttered, tugging Waylon closer as if concerned for his safety.

Waylon didn’t want to admit that he’d almost piss himself from the jolt of the ride’s ungraceful halt. Maybe it was due to the height or his general sense of unease, but he settled into Eddie’s instant offer of protection.

He peered over carefully.

“Oh, God, I think we’re stuck,” he said, squinting and struggling to see much. “Oh...Oh, no, we’re really stuck up here. I know it. I feel it. No. It’s fine. They’ll, um...they’ll just get the fire department if we’re really stuck. We’re not really stuck. I’m sure.”

They were stuck.

He had no clue if the fire department had indeed been called, but all he knew was twenty minutes later people were bitching below them, their voices more like echoes than a sharp annoyance that their voices would usually be. Perk of being stuck at the top.

And fucking cold.

Waylon shivered, wondering if anger could keep him warm.

“Th-This is...ri-ri...ridi-cu….this is s-stupid. Wh...Where are the-the...jeez, it’s cold!” He knew he should have asked, but he was already burying himself against Eddie, cocooning into the larger form as though he were a squirrel and Eddie his tree nest.

Eddie was a true gentleman about it, letting Waylon burrow as close as he could want to. It didn’t help that Waylon was small, and small bodies cooled off way faster than a mass like Eddie’s. The shivering concerned him though, so he took off his jacket, layering it over Waylon to keep him from shaking with cold.

“Here...I know it isn’t...it’s not suggestive or supposed to come off perverse, but sit in my lap, Waylon. It will be...better.”

Of course it came off perverse. The ache for warmth, however, chased it momentarily away. At the least there was enough room for him to wiggle closer and splay himself on Eddie’s lap. 

Oh.

He was glad to blush as it warmed him up. Not as much as it did tucking into Eddie, double jacket and all. Eddie was the best person to be stuck up here with. Miles was a close second, if only because Waylon believed the guy was crazy enough to crawl and spider walk his way down and off the damn ride.

“Th-Thank you,” he said. “S-Some...first d-date, h-h-huh?”

Eddie’s heartbeat was telling him it was worth it though. This was a real guy, offering him warmth, humoring his crush when Eddie could have just as easily politely rejected him.

Waylon looked up, gently caressed Eddie’s jaw.

“Gonna h-have to...m-make you meals to th-thank you…”

“You don’t owe me anything...except maybe a second date,” Eddie muttered, intensely aware of the hand on his jaw. Waylon certainly liked touching him, and he had to wonder if that was a good or bad sign concerning this young man’s manners.

“You’re still shivering. Let me...” Eddie’s large hands fit well on Waylon’s sides, palms and fingertips travelling up and down in stroking motions, trying to convey more warmth into the smaller body.

“It’s not that cold...did you eat? I don’t want you get sick...”

Waylon was so overwhelmed that, for a heartbeat, he forgot what Eddie has asked. There were hands on him, and talk of a second date. With him? Eddie wanted--

“What? Oh...I did. A little,” he breathed, hand settling on Eddie’s chest.

His heart was going crazy now. He didn’t care if he needed to eat.

“Eddie,” he said, boldness (stupidity) overcrowding him, “can...I kiss you?”

“I...what?” Eddie stared at Waylon, throat suddenly dry. Waylon was really, really interested in him, not just superficially. He was even breaking his own bout of shyness, being so frank about it. Women who dated Eddie weren’t like that, was it a guy dating a guy thing? Eddie didn’t know. But he knew he wanted that kiss. And it would distract Waylon from the cold, right? 

It was a good idea all around.

“Sure, Waylon. If you want to...you go right ahead.”

It was the most polite invitation to a kiss if Waylon ever heard one--and he hadn’t, so, heart leaping up his throat, he tilted up.

He was pleased how smoothly his lips landed on Eddie’s, a snug fit that warmed him down to his very toes. He didn’t know how much longer they would really do this, the dating stuff, so he wanted the kiss to last as long as Eddie allowed.

He brought his hand up once more, creeping it to angle Eddie’s face perfectly deeper into his, lips twitching at realizing they were really kissing.

It was all shy and polite in the beginning, Waylon discovering how exactly he liked their mouths to fit together, how to angle Eddie for himself so they could indulge in a long kiss without cutting off each other’s breath.

And Eddie enjoyed the warm fizzle in his chest, which was was starting to turn a glimmering fire.

It felt weird, odd even, to kiss a man. But Waylon’s lips were soft, his tongue behind them eager, and Eddie couldn’t help but coax it against his.

Waylon didn’t know he was sighing contently, or recognized playing with the back of Eddie’s neck, at the nape. He nestled closer, another sweet sound leaving him from the contact of tongue greeting tongue. Somehow Eddie’s tongue was just as polite, not bullying or aggressive.

There could always be time for kissing of the fervor sort at a later time.

For now, Waylon opened his mouth, coaxed Eddie to respond as he did. He only took tiny breaks, long enough to tilt his mouth another way and change the kiss slightly.

It was probably the most erotic moment of his life right then and there, atop a ferris wheel, freezing his nuts off.

Gradually, it had to end, if only to count the time until the next kiss. Waylon liked the little smack of their lips as he let his lips hover against Eddie’s, eyes opening slightly.

“Wow,” he breathed. He didn’t feel cold anymore. “You sure you never done this?”

Eddie had never closed his eyes in the first place, preferring to see Waylon in all of his soft glory as he really dedicated himself to the kiss. Whatever preconceptions Eddie had about men being with men, that kiss could have changed them all, persuaded anyone to the righteousness of it.

He liked Waylon. A whole lot. Enough to think that it might be possible to marry this man and be with him for the rest of his life. Of course, that would be too intense to tell Waylon right now, but Eddie kept it in mind for himself.

“Very sure. But I’m also sure I’d like to do it again. And...again.”

Waylon’s little chuckle was for Eddie’s ears only. Lisa had been so wrong when protesting his move out to another city. Odd neighbors aside (more like quirky now), Waylon had a great roommate, a large space, good job, and a neighbor he had now kissed.

And was going to again.

He smiled instead of saying anything corny, gently tugging Eddie down for another litany of kisses. Coy, curious types at first. Then, as curiosity paired up with repressed desire, the kiss too adapted to it. Soon Waylon was running his entire palm along the back of Eddie’s head, his name tangling in the kisses as moans.

This was getting pretty far from innocent kisses as far as Eddie was concerned. Waylon was on him with a hunger and ferocity one would never expect from a small package of man with good manners and excellent social repression. But Waylon was on fire now, climbing further in Eddie’s lap as their languid kisses continued. Some were slow and heated, others faster, wilder, messier. 

And Eddie loved them all. Kissing Waylon was a damn good way to spend his time, and hell, if it distracted Waylon from the misery of being cold, Eddie was happy to comply.

And it didn’t leave him cold either. His hands were firm on Waylon’s hips, thumbs circling over those all-too slender sides. Waylon could use a couple of pounds of muscle, everywhere.

But it didn’t put Eddie off of course. The next time they parted, Waylon and he were flushed, red in the face and the wolf whistles from the three girls squeezed onto the bench of the contraption behind them (above sort of) didn’t help either,

Waylon could admit he’d lost himself to a beastly version of himself for the span of feeling Eddie’s tongue all over his mouth (and vice versa). Since Eddie had not protested, it had sprung from its cage and ultimately left them staring at each other breathlessly.

The approving sounds tensed him up and whirl his head over to the general direction of the girls.

He dropped his head onto Eddie’s shoulder. He was mortified, but couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“I forgot we weren’t the only ones here. Looks like we just provided a free show,” he said, lifting his head to keep pawing at Eddie’s face. “Hope that didn’t offend you. Guess I’d been wanting to do that since I saw you help me.”

“You’ve been quite good at disguising something so rampant, then.” Eddie was still a little breathless, but in all the right ways. Waylon was a blessing, he couldn’t be anything else. Sent for Eddie to indulge and enjoy and court. 

It was nice to finally understand what the life plan for him was supposed to be. Eddie felt he had it sitting right here, in his lap.

“You understand I have not felt this kind of attraction to a man before...”

“Yeah?” Waylon couldn’t resist a bit of teasing. Arousal must have not only stripped layers of his shyness but reinforced them with cheekiness.

He lightly kissed Eddie in apology all the same.

“I should be flattered then,” he said, running a hand down the length of Eddie’s strong arm. “I’m...seriously really glad. We’ll take things steady though, okay? I don’t want to scare you or freak myself out, but…”

He was leaning up again, drawing Eddie in for another session of quieter, lazier kisses. He could do this all night.

Eddie seemed entirely comfortable with kissing by now, so much so they didn’t even notice when the ferris wheel came back to life. It was the coughing of uncomfortable onlookers around them that had both men realize they were back on ground level, with half a fire department and a crowd having gathered for a potential spectacle. But probably not to witness two men fervently kissing as if there was nothing else but them on earth.

Eddie reacted first, and he got up with Waylon half in his arm, half standing on his own. 

“Let’s go home. Quickly.”

-x-

Eddie brought Waylon to his apartment door, where they shared another long kiss, before the tailor wished his date a pleasant night and promised to see him the following sunday for lunch at his place.

It had been a romantic night home. True, they had been the focal point of intense attention, but it was the same attention that warranted Eddie’s gravitational pull that easily pushed them through the crowd and back home.

By the end of the final night’s kiss, Waylon was sighing like an idiot in love. It was the teenage idealism of kissing and finding someone like Eddie that let him feel silly, have a stupid smile on his face as he came back in quietly, hoping Miles had went to bed early for once.

Miles wasn’t in bed. He was on the couch, watching TV, looking like he hadn’t moved in hours. It was a farce, he’d only gotten back into the place a couple of minutes beforehand, but Waylon would never know, Miles was too good for that.

Ever since their first confrontation about dealing with Eddie, Miles had grown sour towards Waylon. They rarely ate together anymore and the reporter shunned the topic of next door’s neighbour like a fatal disease.

“You’re home earlier than I thought,” he called out without turning his head, “or did you just come back for some rubbers and lube?”

Waylon rolled his eyes. He prickled at the words, tapped into his feelings toward Eddie, and felt relief at how easily it washed it away. To show how good his spirits were, he grabbed two beers and set one in front of Miles. 

However, he took the seat adjacent to the couch Miles was in, wary of his behavior.

“Come on,” he said. “You really gonna keep up the attitude? You’re worse than usual today. I don’t want to be sort-of fighting with you. I really like you, Miles.”

“What, you wanna take me out on a date too? What’s your groom gonna say to your whoring ways, Waylon?” Miles took the beer with a pout that would put a teenage diva to shame. He knew perfectly well he’d have to be offensive to make this work, otherwise, Waylon would be lost to the world, stuck in the past like that weirdo he was so fond of kissing.

“You know he gets pretty angry with loose women, your future hubby.”

“Jesus, Miles,” Waylon ran a hand through his hair. 

His beer called to him, so he took a few gulps to prepare his words. Miles didn’t like Eddie. He got that, and maybe it was his journalist’s gut persuading him to not drop this case. Maybe Miles was in lead of another case desperately.

Good thing he had yet to know how much investigating Miles was doing with his sex life.

“One, I’m not one to fool around with others in general. Two, you realize you sound jealous, don’t you?”

“Psh, yeah, right. Jealous. Hah! Come on, Waylon, do I look like I’m into that creep? Or you? No offense, but if I wanted you, you’d know it. And you wouldn’t even look his way.” Miles seemed reasonably offended at the notion of sound so petty. Which was ironic, because he was.

“When are you gonna start believing in my gut feeling? I have uncovered enough cases with it to know I can trust it. And it goes off the meter when he’s around. He-”

Miles cut himself off, held up a hand and then took an empty glass and pressed it and his ear to the wall.

“Ugh, he’s singing in the shower again. Weirdo.”

Waylon had to laugh at the absurdity and epiphany that mixed through him. For all his babbling about the neighbors, Miles fit right on in with them. Perhaps he had almost uncovered a major government secret and the effects never waned?

Either way, Waylon set his drink down and went over, taking Miles by the shoulders.

“Now I know why you live in a big place. To fit your ego,” he said, jabbing Miles gently in the chest. “Don’t sound so confident that you could keep my eyes on you if you wanted to.”

He shook his head, remembering that wasn’t the point of all this. Just as imagining Eddie in the shower wasn’t the point.

“Look, I’m not...totally waving off your warning, okay? But I believe there is more than one way at viewing things and-” he sighed, “I’ll be careful. I don’t want us to fight. I think you’re really cool, okay? If a little dependant on my cooking and keeping your internet up. Can we...hang out again? I won’t see him until Sunday. We can do anything you want until then.”

“That’s like, one day.” Miles pointed out dryly, with absolutely not a hint of humour in his voice. Waylon was clearly crazy, because he was now officially dating the psycho from next door. The freaky man-mountain that could throw them both around like cats or rabbits.

 

“Fine. Oh hey, the thing is on again.”

Miles wandered back to the couch, the TV capturing his attention with a news bulletin. It was a special report from their local station about a string of missing young women.

Miles looked more suspicious as their pictures came up.

“You know, a lot of these chicks look like the ones your heartthrob next door had wandering around...”

Waylon sighed, wondering if the weirdness of this building would claim him one day too. Was it contagious? Possibly. Like a parent, he followed Miles back to the couch, sitting beside him to see the report.

Missing women. A connected case? Waylon had no clue and knew this was Miles’ alleyway.

“I can’t really tell,” Waylon said, scrutinizing the latest photo. “That one though…”

Recognition punched him in the stomach. “That’s um...the girl. That one girl. She works at the bridal place I went to the other day.”

“Oh did she? She’s been missing since last week. That’s when you went there, right? With Mr Creepskin?”

Miles was alert, despite the endless boredom his mind had been held captive in since he lost his job and had no backing to find cases for. No matter. He’d live on his savings and definitely find new cases to sniff out.

Like this missing person’s thing. They were all women in a pleasant age span, all of them fairly attractive by standard conventions, and all of them local.

Miles didn’t want to jinx it, but he knew something bad happened to these women. And his gut pointed him right next door.

“Wouldn’t surprise me if every single one of them knew your boyfriend through some way or another.”

Waylon’s prickling returned with full force. He couldn’t bring it to the surface and lash at Miles though. The guy was working this out like one of his cases, couldn’t fault him for that, even if it directed his ire toward ‘Creepskin’. 

“I doubt that. Eddie doesn’t see a lot of women from the looks of it, besides those he is working with.”

His gut stirred though. He grabbed the remote and turned the T.V. off.

“Enough of that. The police will handle it. I think you could use--” He paused, suddenly catching a whiff of a scent he thought had come from himself.

He didn’t.

Waylon narrowed an eye.

“You smell like falafel.”

Did he?

Ms. Summers forgotten, he leapt to his feet. “You went to the fair tonight, didn’t you!”

“What? No. God, there’s more than one place to get falafel in this town, jeez Waylon.” Miles was of course extremely good at lying and acting offended, when he was clearly in the wrong in this situation.

Of course he’d followed Waylon. As if he’d leave him alone with that fucking freak.  
When Waylon continued to look accusing at him, Miles shrugged.

“I just wanted to make sure Creepskin didn’t eat your brains, or like, take advantage of you, alright? You’re a little dude and he’s massive.”

Waylon rarely got upset, and could vividly remember each time he did because of it. A memory was building in him now, with Miles’ face as the icon. He bristled and threw his hands up in the air to get some agitation out of him, though a wall would be better, but they both knew he lacked the vigor for that.

“Jesus, Miles! Really? Tailing me like, like I’m part of a big scoop? Don’t look like that, I feel like you did it to confirm your gut about Eddie not to protect my virtue, which thanks very much, I can handle myself just fine, even against you.”

“Oh my god Waylon. You can’t even handle a rabid raccoon! I saw that out by the garbage cans last week. Don’t make this so dramatic, I didn’t follow you for a scoop! I followed you so you wouldn’t become a scoop because I think your boyfriend is a psycho killer!”

Miles was standing now, and he was shouting.

Nevermind that it was probably Eddie’s turn to hear the happenings of the apartment next door. Waylon puffed out to his full height-which shied almost an entire foot compared to Miles, who not only had height but girth, far from Eddie’s but just as effective.

“How could you call him that so easily! You’ve been clearly cooped up in here too long, Miles, because you can’t just follow me everywhere now that I’m seeing Eddie,” his heart fluttered upon admitting that, and then sank. He went gray and covered his mouth.

“Shit, you followed me! That means…”

How much had Miles seen of their make out session?

What a night this was becoming.

“N-Nevermind, that doesn’t change the fact that you followed me. That’s not healthy! And I don’t appreciate that in the slightest, even if it is because you care enough about me not to want me dead, but--” he trailed off, realizing he was losing ground when he paled in terms of physical manifestation of anger and annoyance.

“Miles,” he went on, less in a shout, “I...Look, I get that you believe what you believe and, okay, maybe I appreciate a little you’re looking out for me, but you really need to take a step back. I mean, just look at yourself.”

He tugged at Miles’ more than wrinkled clothing, casually brushed at the stubble on his chin, lightly prodded around an eye. “Shit, when’s the last time you slept normally?”

“Can’t sleep. Got things to do. Night time’s best for catching people out you know.” Miles pulled away from Waylon’s reach, seeming almost completely oblivious to his roommate’s justified worries. 

“Fine. You think you’ll be okay on your own with him, you can be on your own with him. I no longer care. I’ll write you a good eulogy if shit goes down, even. Like, a funny one. And then I’ll sleep with your cousin. Yeah. You’ll see.”

Miles took his beer and retreated into his room, muttering to himself.

Waylon’s phone beeped with a text message.

Is everything okay? Do you need me to come over? - Eddie

Waylon rubbed his face and groaned, not bothering to inform Miles that the only male cousin he had was pre-pubescent. No point though. Miles would say something equally ridiculous like, turn himself straight to sleep with one of his female cousins, then switch back to gay.

Seeing Eddie’s text softened him a little. Miles wasn’t crazy, but neither was Eddie. There must have been some medium between them, and Waylon didn’t really want to find out about it.

He went to the kitchen as he typed back.

Sorry about that. Miles followed me today.   
Not thrilled about us. All okay though.  
Sunday’s still on.

He smiled at it, set the phone down in case Eddie replied. Meanwhile, he began the task of staying up late to leave Miles a heavy breakfast tomorrow. Lord knew the guy needed it, weird or not as he was proving to be like the other neighbors.

Eddie had gotten so concerned he was halfway to being dressed again and contemplating asking Waylon to sleep in his apartment rather than his own. Had it gotten so far? He was really worried about this man’s safety...Huh. What a strange feeling.

Well, I’m thrilled about us. Do you want me to come with you to shop for sunday? I should be working, but I like going out with you. To shop, I mean.

Waylon grinned at the text, imagining the hesitant expression that accompanied the text. It didn’t matter what Miles said, Eddie touched something in Waylon that wouldn’t let him judge the man so easily. No matter what it was, he’d carve his own opinion out.

I’d like that. And me too. Being thrilled.  
Sleep well.

Was it lame to add a smilie? Yeah, he decided, forgoing it and instead sending the text as is. Phone set aside, text conversation open, he found all the strength he needed to get to cooking, pretending he wasn’t completely excited that Eddie had been concerned for his wellbeing.


	6. Chapter 6

All in all, Miles appeared to be wrong. Eddie and Waylon continued to date, and had been doing so steadily for almost three months now. Once, they even had dinner, the three of them, at Eddie’s, because Waylon forced Miles to join them or starve and Miles enforced his rule of no housemates in the apartment.

It had been an awkward affair they all swore not to repeat, with Eddie being oddly stilted with his conversation and Miles giving him the constant stinkeye. 

But at least they didn’t have any more arguments about it. The news reports were still around though, the young women simply never turning up again.

Eddie’s door was a different matter. It was late one Wednesday evening, when both Miles and Waylon sat in the living room sharing some beer and a movie when they heard it, rising from the background.

Someone was snarling, on the edge of shouting. It was Eddie’s voice, but what he said didn’t sound a thing like him.

“Darling, when did you become such a whore? And to think I wanted you to have my children!”

All in all, Waylon succeeded in happiness the last few months. Even the panic-mode set in from Lisa and the wedding, which was in just a week now, paled at how he felt lately. Mostly because of Eddie. Still alive and not being worn as a coat, Waylon hadn’t so much as coaxed Miles to drop the subject than starve him if he brought Eddie up negatively without concrete proof.

Which, of course, he lacked, but still dug around for.

So it was nice they had their nights together again, sharing company. Yet, the sound startled Waylon. His stomach dropped.

He got up, looking at Miles.

“Was that Eddie?” he whispered. “Maybe I should go check on him.”

Ignoring any protests from Miles, Waylon was already scurrying out, on edge. He’d never heard of the slurs Miles allegedly heard Eddie shout toward women, so hearing his voice contort the way it had made him feel a little sick.

“Eddie,” he called, coming to the door, then knocking gently. “Everything okay, Eddie? We heard something and...wanted to make sure all was fine.”

Everything was perfectly fine, for Eddie’s point of view, really. The woman in his grasp was slowly going to bleed to death, which would look a whole lot prettier once she was strung up like the rest of them. She whimpered as she heard a new voice, one that gave her hope for her life.

“Shh, shhh you slut. Die quietly.” Eddie hissed, laying her flat on the ground. There was a reason he had laminated floors, easy to clean, easy to to bleach. All the better to rid himself of the evidence of his main...hobby.

Hobby was an odd way of describing murder, but quest sounded too righteous for Eddie’s taste. 

Yes, he was a murderer. A serial killer, by now. Twenty-four women had lost their lives to him. True, not all of them were from around here, or there’d be a man-hunt on for him like there was in the last state he resided in. No, here, in this new, terribly dull town, he remained at a moderate eight, with number nine ready to join her sinful sisters rather soon.

Eddie didn’t kill out of sick pleasure, or a need to satisfy some kind of horrible necrophiliac tendencies. But it was a complicated sort of therapy for him. For what he’d lived through.

Sometimes, often, he wondered how sick he really was. If he should be locked up, hidden away, made a dirty secret of humanity that died in captivity.

Sometimes, he felt like the king of the world, cleansing away all those women who would be terrible mothers, the kind that would let the same thing happen to their children that happened to him.

And sometimes, Eddie wanted to string himself up with his brides, because he knew he was a monster and no one would ever willingly love him.

And now, there was Waylon. Beautiful, patient, talented, soft and kind Waylon. Waylon who was too good for this world, too good for all these ungrateful whores in the world, and too good for Eddie. It was punishment and a blessing to have Waylon live next door, and be so perfect, despite being a man.

Eddie took it as a sign. Here was his perfect bride, the one that held his heart, and she was cursed to be a man, never to give him the only other thing he desired as much as to be loved. Children. 

It was a devilish choice and Eddie couldn’t make it. So his killing took on new form. Experimentation. Surely, Waylon’s biology could be...helped? Surely, if he studied enough on the whores he wanted dead anyway, he would understand how to make the perfect container for his and Waylon’s children.

Eddie worked for his dream, that was certain. He worked hard and thoroughly, but he knew evem Waylon wouldn’t understand.

So therein lay a problem, because his hands were stained with blood and a dying woman lay in his workroom. Eddie sighed and covered her body with a pile of fabric, gagging her for now. He washed up quickly, hands clean once more, he opened the door a tiny bit.

“Waylon? Oh, sorry, was I too loud? I’m so sorry. I’m working...I’ve got a habit of talking to my dresses like they are people.”

Seeing Eddie shaved off a coat of nerves for Waylon. He exhaled upon confirming that Eddie wasn’t hurt in any way that he could see, and then reached up to smooth his hands over Eddie’s vest. It never needed smoothing, but it gave him the excuse to touch Eddie.

His fingers pulsed as they trailed over strong shoulders, offering light squeezes.

“Oh. I didn’t know that. You had me worried a moment,” he said. Though he couldn’t peek past Eddie’s massive frame, he didn’t sense any disturbance in the living room behind his...well, boyfriend? Were they boyfriends now?

Waylon ducked his head. “Talking about someone having your kids when we’re dating. Of course I was a little worried.” His fingers continued squeezing, and his lips lifted up to peck Eddie’s jaw. “Don’t overwork yourself, okay?”

Waylon’s sweetness almost seemed outlandish to Eddie right now, and yet it was welcome as ever. This sweet man was sort of his now, and he worried for him, even when it was nothing, like hearing Eddie sound annoyed through a wall. It did dampen his spirits to hear Waylon recite the words he’d used.

“Sorry, again. I’ve got a deadline,” oh, he was clever at puns, “with this one...and it’s driving me crazy. Angry crazy. Almost like I want throw it all out and start over.”

“Come on, I’m sure it’s not that bad. You know, I read somewhere that the artist is the most critical of his work, and that it’s never perfect.”

Waylon chuckled, offering more of the massage. Eddie looked like he had indeed been straining with this project. He wanted to see it, curious now, but Eddie had a thing about not allowing anyone to see particular works.

“Maybe...you need a short break?” he offered. “I could make you something small to eat, help you unwind a few minutes, then let you get back to it.”

As much as Eddie would love that, he was much too careful a serial killer to let his attention lapse. He gave a little moan of regret and of pleasure (at the massage).

“Don’t tempt me, Waylon Park. How about...If I finish everything in let’s say...an hour? Yes?” That would give him time to stow the body, temporarily in his apartment, then clean up the blood, spend time with Waylon and take the corpse to hang later on. Sounded like a good plan for his evening.

“You spoil me with your treats, you know...”

Waylon grinned shamelessly.

“Okay. Sounds like a plan. Plus, it gives me time to wind Miles down, make him something big enough it’ll require hours to eat.”

Getting on the tips of his toes, he tugged Eddie down for a kiss.

“And I’m spoiling you for good reason. I still want you to come to the wedding as my plus one, don’t think I’ve forgotten that topic.”

Eddie indulged the kiss, letting Waylon linger on his lips as he savoured the taste. His neighbour must have been eating apples and berries, he certainly tasted like them. With a hint of beer.

“You’re going to insist on that, aren’t you?” he sighed, a mock air of drama, “Do you really mean to make me mingle with actual brides and their excited entourage?”

“I’m kind of tempted, if only to save me from the inevitable boredom,” he said, laughing. “Lisa really won’t get off my back about meeting you, and you made the damn wedding dress. She said it fit her like a glove when you sent it and she wants you to come.”

He gestured at the apartment. “You could use a change of scenery. I promise I won’t leave your side. Think about it okay?”

“Did you just call my apartment dull?” Eddie seemed amused, but also eager to have Waylon return to his flat. He basically steered him over there, placing one more kiss on his cheek.

“Now, stop distracting me so that I can make more women die to meet me.”

Waylon sighed, allowing the ushering. Not that he could do much to protest it. Eddie could easily haul him over his shoulder as though he weighed nothing.

“Alright, alright,” he said, twisting around to steal another kiss. “Work well. See you soon. Just text me.”

He waved and ducked back into the apartment, spotting Miles.

“No, there was no body,” he said, settling back on the couch. “He’s really frustrated with the latest dress and started talking to it. At most I’m admitting he has a temper, but it’s gotten better I think.”

He hesitated, wanting to steer the topic elsewhere. “There’s...still room for another guest. At...the wedding. I think maybe you should consider going. You need to get out of this city for a while.”

He’d been reluctant to bring up the wedding with Miles, worried the man might either die of starvation or doing something equally rash without his roommate to steady him. Now though, it seemed logical to offer Miles an invitation. Lisa had okay-ed it a while back, but it was just now he brought it up.

“You kidding? Is there gonna be decent catering?” No matter how much or little money Miles had, he had the eating habits of a college student. Constantly grazing, always hungry.

“Also, how good does the groom look? Is he one of those, you know, got tons of hot friends, kind of guys?”

Waylon shook his head, smiling. He’d missed Miles’ sarcasm. Rather, he missed it when it wasn’t contorted with anger born from Eddie Gluskin suspicions.

“Yeah, she’s rather loaded so it’s really good Greek catering. And yes, I guess you could call the groom hot.” He fished out his laptop and opened a page up for Miles. “He’s an award-winning martial artist, teaches classes too. So of course he’s got a bunch of friends.”

He let Miles enjoy the view, realizing he treated his roommate almost like a cat, finding new ways to keep him occupied and forget the rat living under their noses.

“Technically you’d be Lisa’s plus one if you go. I, um...invited Eddie but he hasn’t said if he’s coming so if he doesn’t, you can be my plus-one.”

“Excuse me? I’m not your first choice?” Miles kind of sounded offended, but he wouldn’t be tetchy about it, not with the pleasant view on the laptop. Hell he might even put up with creepy Gluskin if he was gonna meet some of those muscled bodies.

Miles was a creature of shallow taste, even if he’d deny it til the end of time.

“I’m not going there with Gluskin. He can take his own car. Or you can ride in his. But I don’t plan on being any closer to him than I am now.”

Waylon snorted and went for his beer again.

“No, I planned for all of us to take one cab and share the same bed. Relax, Miles, I know you don’t like him. He and I will have our own room if he goes, and you’ll get one to yourself. That way you can bring back all the hot men you can dream of.”

He peered over at the laptop, unable to stop himself from saying, “You know, they sort of have the same body type as Eddie. Just saying.”

Miles bristled at the last comment and snapped the laptop shut.

“I do NOT find him attractive!”

Which was a vehement, sure-fire sign of denial in his roommate, but Waylon should handle whatever he learned with diplomacy.

“I’ll go. For the hot guys. Can’t deny them me.”

Waylon laughed, taking his laptop away in case Miles had the mind to inflict further damage on it out of spite.

“God, you really do, huh? You’re kind of a big-ish guy yourself. I thought maybe you preferred someone smaller, but looks like you like them with muscle. Guess I don’t have to worry about sleeping with one eye open anymore. I’m kidding! Don’t get so pissy. It’s okay to like someone for how they look and still hate their guts, you know…”

But he was glad Miles was coming. Now if Eddie came along, he had to wonder what kind of spectacle the three of them might inadvertently become.

“Whatever Waylon. I don’t like your creepy boyfriend, and I’m gonna find out what his big dark secret is. You’ll see. And you’ll thank me.”

That appeared to be Miles’ contribution for the night, because he took his beer and the snacks and slunk back to his room like a wounded cat.


	7. Chapter 7

Wounded or not, Miles bounced back swiftly for someone who had made a point of arguing the dynamics of a psycho and his potential victims with his roommate, who he believed was in fact dating a psycho.

Waylon was momentarily surprised to see Miles in a tux. The journalist explained part of his job required footwork and blending in, which demanded an array of fashions. Made sense. He looked damn fine in one too.

It made the arduous trip to the wedding worth it from that alone. They had reached the luxury hotel, settled in, changed, and were set to get to the wedding half an hour early, at least.

As he admired Miles’ appearance, teasing that he should have no problems converting men to his bed, Eddie finally came out. He took the longest to prepare.

At that time, Waylon radiated with delight. If Eddie had looked good before, he was dazzling now. Beyond handsome, just...perfect. He’d almost felt bad for forgetting Miles’ appearance and taking Eddie’s extended arm--still the gentleman. 

And they certainly got a lot of looks. 

Not so much at Waylon, who was the afterthought. Eddie was the star of their entourage, more so when Miles went on ahead to avoid whatever pungent distaste he insisted surrounded Eddie’s aura. That left Waylon to his thumping heart, smiling nervously, hoping Eddie wasn’t getting as nervous as he was.

Not like it was them getting married, right?

“Way!”

Waylon easily spotted Lisa’s shock of bright hair. She waved from a display of properly arranged seating at the outdoor venue, which probably cost more than Waylon earned in his life.

She hiked up her bridesmaid dress and scurried over as best she could in heels.

“Finally! Oh, well, I think I know who this is,” she said, smiling wide at Eddie. “You must be the guy who is taking up Waylon’s Skype time from me.”

Waylon cleared his throat. “I willingly give it, just so you know. But yes, this is Eddie Gluskin, quite the famous designer and...ah…”

“God, just say it, you baby. Your boyfriend,” Lisa said, offering her hand. “It’s more than a pleasure to meet you, Eddie Gluskin.”

“You must be Lisa...I have heard...little of you. I’m sorry, I am a terrible listener. Always busy when Waylon decides to distract me. He’s a devil to my work,” Eddie had an easy charm with women that he lacked when he was just with his...so-called boyfriend. Dear goodness, what a teenage-sounding term. They were dating, seeing each other, but they never progressed beyond kissing.

Boyfriends. How silly.

“I’m not remotely sorry for taking him off of your hands. Quite the opposite.”

Waylon stepped closer to Eddie, implying he held no regret either. Lisa noted his stupid air of content, and had to roll her eyes. True, she held a look of hurt about her knowing that Waylon accepted Eddie instead of her, but she had never been one for drama.

“He’s happy. That’s what matters,” she said, both to herself and them. “I’m glad you came. You’re an honored guest for the hard work you did. She looks stunning in her dress. You’ll see soon enough. Come on, let’s take a seat.”

She guided them toward the front of the arrangement, Waylon going red when he noticed stares, some less pleasant than others. For the most part, they were more on Eddie than the smaller man attached to him.

“God, I’m so nervous. I feel like I’m the bride or something,” he whispered as he sat beside Eddie, still holding his hand. “Do I look okay? I feel like I’m sweating through my tux. I don’t know how you make it look so easy. Ow!”

Lisa had the foresight to smack him over the head with what was some pamphlet wedding-related. She only smiled at them, then took her spot back at the end where the bridesmaids would march down the aisle.

Waylon grumbled. “And she wonders why we never were more than friends.”

Eddie took everything in with close scrutiny, as if the wedding needed to live up to his expectations. Truth be told, he’d never actually gone to see one of his dresses on the buyer’s body, usually because he’d be disappointed with something about the ceremony.

This one too. The flowers didn’t match his perfect ensemble for the dress, and the groom, who filled out his tux well, was wearing converse. Converse! In the presence of one of his dresses. Eddie gave a little grunt, tugging Waylon’s arm closer and glaring in the groom’s direction.

“She’d have to work hard to make herself look a whore in that dress,” he muttered as the bridesmaids moved into position and the march started playing. Eddie didn’t seem relaxed at all.

Waylon brushed off the tug, watching as Lisa marched down the aisle. He smiled at her, heart warming up. She looked beautiful. He hoped she’d find someone for herself who could put a smile on her face like the one the bride would be wearing.

“What?” he whispered. “What are you talk-Oh, shh. Here she comes.”

The bride’s procession demanded their standing. They did, eyes fixated on the bride. Waylon ogled her with admiration and awe. She was pretty, sure, but the dress extended that beauty into territory very few humans reached.

“You did amazing,” he said to Eddie, squeezing his arm tightly in praise. He sensed the tight muscles. Gently, he touched Eddie’s chin. “Hey, you okay?”

Amazing? She looked like a hobgoblin, with her bowed legs and the tacky tiara holding her veil. Eddie felt his work insulted and if it weren’t for Waylon, he would have left the wedding with an expression of disdain.

His work was flawless, only ruined by the slut wearing it. Eddie felt it boil in him, the urge to see her hang, to take back his work, which she didn’t deserve.

“Whores and sluts, everywhere. This one too.”

Waylon couldn’t believe what he had heard. This wasn’t Eddie talking to the dress, but directly to the bride, to all the women here. Stunned, Waylon was silenced, but it went well with the need of the wedding; the vows were exchanged, the groom kissed his bride. Everyone but Eddie applauded.

Once they had the freedom to move, he tugged Eddie aside, using some botany to keep others from ogling the curious, handsome man who had appeared at the wedding.

“Eddie,” he said, firmer, “what the hell was that about? What happened back there? You sounded really upset and...What made you say that?”

Eddie seemed disturbed still and he tried to avoid looking at Waylon. He’d feel guilty for showing part of the monster he really was. Not to Waylon. To anyone else, but not to Waylon. Please? He pleaded for the other man to drop the topic, to let him get away with the rather violent expressions...but to no avail.

Waylon expected an answer. Eddie knew he wasn’t ready for one.

“I...I...didn’t like...her hair. Her tiara. Who wears a silver-opaque veil with a creme eggshell dress?” he hissed once more, and he knew he needed to take some distance, or someone would end strangled in his hands.

Waylon crossed his arms, his stubbornness bubbling beneath his mellow-ish expression as he studied his boyfriend. He was about to reply when he noticed the way Eddie’s shoulders tensed, as if he was ready to let loose that temper of his.

Thinking best not to ruin someone’s wedding, Waylon took Eddie’s arm and guided him farther back. Thank God the place was huge and allowed for a few hiding spots. They’d worry about dinner later.

“Eddie,” he tried again, “that’s not just is. I can tell. You wouldn’t get so upset over something small like that. You called all of them whores.”

He sighed and leaned back against a pillar.

“Miles wasn’t entirely wrong, I feel. Come on, Eddie. Talk to me. I’m guessing your old-fashion views has something to do with it but...you seem...more angry than typical about it. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Eddie snapped now, and there was none of his calm, reserved manner about it now. He glared at Waylon, and it was vicious. His weight and height could be an astute, mountain-esque oasis of serenity, or the threatening bulk of a very large, powerful man.

“Waylon. Nothing’s up. It’s...not...I’m not talking about this with you. You’re not like them, you’re good and pure and you don’t spread filth before claiming a white gown, as if it could wash away all the whoring, all the trash they really are.”

Waylon bit his tongue to steady himself. Harmless as Eddie was toward him, it didn’t make him less threatening. Stubbornness fueled his stance, keeping him from flinching when Eddie snapped at him.

“Okay,” he said, knowing calming Eddie prioritized all else. “I don’t know what makes you think of them like that, but it’s rude and unfair to judge them, Eddie.”

Maybe bringing Eddie was a bad choice. At least Miles didn’t throw slurs around.

“I’m sorry I pushed,” he said, hand resting on Eddie’s chest. “It worried me is all. But if you don’t want to talk about it right now, okay. We don’t have to talk about it right now.”

There was serious hate toward women in Eddie, that much he suspected, but the why was pulling at him. No one just came to hate anyone like that.

“Look,” he said, hand trailing up to Eddie’s face, carefully, testing it, “I’ll tell them you got sick. That we had a nice time and we’re going back to the hotel. That sound better?”

“I’ll go. You stay.” Eddie seemed to distance himself from this very moment. Something was wrong between them now, and the handsome tailor carefully undermined and removed Waylon’s touch from his face.

“It’s your friend. Her cousin. Tell her what you want to. I’ll see you back home.”

Eddie didn’t really give Waylon a chance to argue as he stalked away, shoulders squared and tensed. People literally jumped out of his way.

“Wow. I think a charging rhino gets less respect. Trouble in paradise?” Miles leaned into the little niche in which Waylon was left behind, with a bowl of ice-cream that definitely belonged on the buffet table in his arm.

Waylon almost yelped in surprise. Ironically it was surprise that froze his mouth for the moment it took to recognize Miles had been stalking him yet again. He didn’t have the vigor to glare at him, not when his attention was focused on Eddie leaving.

“You could say that,” he said, rubbing his brow. “I’m sure you’re thrilled about that. Hey, I thought dinner wasn’t being served yet--No, never mind.” He exhaled hard and leaned back against the pillar, replaying the events.

“Miles,” he glanced at his seemingly too pleased roommate, “have you ever...done research on Eddie? Background check and all?”

Somehow he didn’t doubt that Miles did. Question was, if he got to a point he couldn’t access. Waylon felt instantly guilty for thinking of using his skills to tap into potential files Miles couldn’t reach.

“Oho, now you suddenly get curious,” Miles waved the spoon, a serving spoon by the size of it, sucking down some ice-cream as he lingered in his moment of triumph. He’d been telling Waylon all along how precarious it was to get involved with Eddie Gluskin. Now, he was finally feeling the consequences. And he wasn’t hurt, which was a bonus, because Miles liked his roommate and loved his cooking.

“You might want to sit down for it though...no? Alright. So, your boyfriend’s got quite the history. Haven’t accessed all of it, but from I gathered...let’s just say, his childhood sounds like hell. Mother had to work three jobs to support the family, father was a drunk and a pedo. An unemployed one. He’s doing time now, but for somethin’ else. Assault or something. I gathered up as much as I could about the domestic case though...Gluskin was supposedly abused, you know, the real nasty shit, by his dad and uncle...don’t know what his mom knew about it, but she didn’t testify against her husband. Left Eddie standing alone, and gave up her right of custody to the state, and he’s been in and out of the system since then. Did a spell in a psychiatric hospital, two years...Checked himself out eventually, saying he was all better.”

Miles was finished with the ice-cream and lit a cigarette, “I’m trying to get in touch with those doctors of his, find out what is wrong with his head.”

Dinner had to wait, for a long time.

Waylon wasn’t sure when he had sank down to his bottom, but he did at some point. Miles spun the tale more common than people would admit, but never had Waylon felt its effects so personally as he did now. Why, he didn’t know. Eddie was hardly more than a few months old boyfriend.

Abuse. Neglectful mother. Somewhere connections would be made and offer insight into Eddie’ view on women, but today, Waylon couldn’t bother with that.

For a while he remained quiet, unable to shake off the feeling that Eddie, so small and helpless as children were, trapped in--He couldn’t even finish the thought.

He covered his mouth and shut his eyes, feeling sicker than he had in a long time. He envied Miles’ detachment.

“Eddie,” he said, and the name sobered him up.

He grappled with the ground, shoving up to his feet. “I have to...go. I need to. Lisa. First. Yeah, then...I’m going back. In an hour max.”

He was rambling to himself, fighting off the sickness, forgetting the need to access more files. He had enough to spur him into action, and he cursed when he realized he was already walking the wrong way. Turning, he marched past Miles.

He had to get home. To Eddie.

“Woah, wait, I’m not missing this wedding! You better drive back and pick me up tomorrow!” Miles didn’t seem inclined to join Waylon in his march...save Eddie’s soul or whatever he was determined to do. Miles didn’t care either. He knew that Eddie did actually hold genuine affection for Waylon, and although Miles didn’t like that, he knew the big brute wouldn’t hurt a hair on his little boyfriend’s head.

So there was no reason to give up buffet, banquet and the show, at all.

“Waylon, his past didn’t happen yesterday, okay? You can leave him alone for a night. He won’t break.”

Miles had to jog to catch up to the powerwalk of a determined, concerned partner.

“He’s probably over it anyway.”

Waylon groaned, wanting to throttle Miles for being so logical and for having his own charm. He raised valid points, and with that way he talked, Waylon knew going back might further agitate Eddie. His boyfriend needed space. He couldn’t suffocate him, not after what he learned.

He needed space too. To...mull over what he’d known, what he’d fucking say to Eddie-

“I…”

He slowed down, held his head in one hand. He wanted to tear his hair out.

“...You...You’re right,” he conceded, emotions protesting. “I can’t just...leave. I’ll excuse myself early. Go back to the hotel. I...need to...think about all this. Fuck, Miles, why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“Honestly? You wouldn’t have seen it as anything but more excuse to coddle him. You need to understand something, Waylon. That man that you’re dating, he’s really not all there. He’s been through hell, and the guy has my sympathy for it, but he’s got scars so deep no one knows where they end. Eddie Gluskin is dangerous, Waylon. And you saw a glimpse of it today. I hope you really get it now. And help me find out what he’s doing. Because he’s up to something, that’s for sure.”

Miles seemed adamant about this.

Waylon felt a flinch coming. He couldn’t fault for Miles for reasoning. Had he construed this information early on, Waylon would have nothing but sympathy, nothing but a need to help Eddie. The helping part of him existed, but now another voice warned him to take heed how he did it.

He stopped walking altogether and looked at Miles, feeling overwhelmed.

“...I don’t know what to do, Miles.” He hated how pitiful he sounded.

Miles watched him, tried to understand what was going through his friend’s head. He needed advice, and although Miles despised Eddie Gluskin for the shady character he definitely was, he liked Waylon, and wanted to help him out.

“Think about...how you can help Eddie. Whatever he’s doing, somebody’s probably hurt. Gotten hurt, and will get hurt. I don’t want that to be you. The kindest thing you can do for him is find out what his secret is. What he’s doing when you’re not watching. You can’t give or get him the help he clearly needs.”

Waylon didn’t want to hear that. It spoiled his fantasy, the life he’d been living with Eddie, full of laughs and tentative kisses. He liked that. He didn’t like knowing he couldn’t cure Eddie with his touch alone. Worse, maybe Eddie was farther along in his anger than mentioned, so far that Waylon didn’t want anything to do with him?

No. He banished cynicism from him. He’d leave that to Miles. Was there a secret Eddie hid from him? He still couldn’t really fathom it. All he did was make dresses.

“I don’t want him to think I’m prying…”

This was too much.

He sighed and shook his head slowly. “I’ll go talk to him tomorrow. Then...maybe. We’ll see what he says. I just need to talk to him first.”

He turned away, hurrying back to the revelry though he felt he belong amongst the silence of the courtyard, the lonely pillars and single statues casting a kind of somber feeling.


	8. Chapter 8

Waylon hardly slept the night before heading back. He didn’t talk to Miles much, not wanting to be influence by his desire to find out a secret Eddie might not have had to begin with. Too many times he cast looks at his laptop, tempted to see what he could unearth. Each time, he stopped himself and settled back into bed, thinking of what to say.

All the preparation couldn’t help. He took a separate cab from Miles, needing the space.

By the time he was unpacked (he needed the extra time) and standing in front of Eddie’s door, he still didn’t know what to say.

Shit.

He knocked gently.

“Eddie...it’s me. I came home, like you said. Can...are you mad at me?”

The door didn’t open for a while. Eddie had heard Waylon of course, he’d been standing on the other side of it for minutes, listening to Waylon wait for him. He still wanted to come into Eddie’s world, even though he knew nothing of it. Eddie didn’t know if he should open it or not. Welcome Waylon in? That was too difficult. No one wanted to be part of his life for long, and after last night, he was sure Waylon too would leave him alone, would turn his back on Eddie, because he didn’t deserve the happiness their shared company brought to him. 

Eddie wanted to hold Waylon, crush him in his embrace and tell him that he was different, that he mattered to Eddie and that scared the tailor. It scared him that he wanted Waylon to see all of him, and love him despite what a monster he was inside.

Eventually though, he opened up. Not enough to let Waylon in. He wasn’t dressed impeccably today, hadn’t even slicked his hair. Nothing hid the dark circles under his eyes.

“I’m not...mad at you. Did you...did you come to break up with me?”

Waylon had rooted himself in his spot since he knocked, believing with all his silly heart Eddie would open the door, if only to go out at night and stumble over his neighbor. Yet, when Eddie opened it just minutes later, he felt better.

Eddie looked a mess compared to his usual self.

Waylon realized then it didn’t matter how Eddie looked or how many warning Miles threw his way. The way his heart fluttered and his smile grew was genuine and a result of Eddie Gluskin.

“No, dummy,” he said, gently, taking a step closer, not yet touching. “I came...because I care about you and we had a fight, and I’m sorry for upsetting you. I...really...really like you, Eddie, so much it scares me, so much that I wanted to help and got pushy.”

He couldn’t help himself. He brushed his hand against Eddie’s arm.

“I’m not here to break up with you at all.”

“Oh.” It was the polar opposite of what he’d been expecting and yet, Eddie didn’t know how to react. Was he happy about it? Did he want Waylon to break up with him, to end this facade of the dream of a relationship that didn’t leave him hurt and angry? What were you supposed to say in a moment like that?

“I...thought...you would. I expected you to. Maybe it would be better.”

What? Was he really...yes. It would be better. They’d had a beautiful few months, full of touches and affection that Eddie always craved and never had. And he wanted to keep it that way, wanted Waylon to think of him like that. Like he was a decent man.

“Yeah. It would be better. We’re..we’re done, Waylon. Thank you for...everything.”

Waylon gaped, denial clamping down on the words percolating in his head. Eddie was breaking up with him? But they hadn’t begun talking.

His heart sank to his toes. He wanted to protest, to throw a tantrum. To lose what he had with Eddie so quickly, it was not like a bandaid ripped off, but like a limb chopped off. An essential one.

He breathed in deeply to stop himself from acting an idiot. Always being of the mind that forcing someone into a relationship was toxic, he treaded carefully.

“Eddie,” he began, touching his arm. “I can’t force you to be with me, but...please hear me out, listen to my side at least.”

When Eddie didn’t look ready to slam the door on his face, Waylon accepted it as a means to keep going.

“I know you’re...private and, look, I’m not an idiot. You’ve got something going on, whether it’s emotional, or, or, I don’t know. I’m not a psychiatrist, but what I do know is what I feel.” He lightly took Eddie’s hand into both his own. “When I hold your hand, when I just see your face, I get such a good feeling. Of course I don’t want to lose it…

“I...Eddie, I don’t care whatever secrets you might have. I know that sounds crazy, but whatever it is, it can’t change that I feel what I feel now, that I really like you, that I want to...to be by your side, for the bad times. I didn’t ask you out because I assumed our...relationship would be easy.”

He remembered the ferris wheel. It gave him courage.

“I came to you because I was attracted to you. Not just in looks. Something else. And whatever it was, it’s made me realize that you don’t have to be alone in there, with whatever...bad things are going on. And I don’t want you feel alone. Not anymore. That’s all I know to be truth, and it’s making me stand here and ramble like an idiot. You got me, Eddie, in so many more ways than you realize. And I want you to have me. Even if it’s just to hold your hand so you know that no matter how crazy or bad things get, deep down someone still cares a shitload about you.”

He flushed. “That’s me, obviously. Jesus, Eddie, can’t you tell I’m falling for you?”

Eddie shouldn’t have given Waylon the chance to say anything at all. What good did it do them to hurt each other? And he was sure they would. Waylon was pouring his heart out, and Eddie knew they couldn’t go on. He liked Waylon too much, and he was already too close. How many times had Eddie sat there, thinking he could tell Waylon everything, including that he was a murderer...

Because Eddie knew he felt similar. He didn’t know love, in all of its glory, though he’d dreamed of it. But what he felt for Waylon was the closest he ever got.

“Don’t tell me that...please, Waylon, don’t make this any harder...”

Waylon swallowed hard to prevent more things from gushing out, more things that made it harder for Eddie to end this. Wasn’t that the point though?

“You shouldn’t give up on something that makes you feel good just because you’re scared. That’s why you’re breaking up with me, isn’t it? You’re afraid of me knowing...whatever it is about you you don’t want me knowing. But I’m here, Eddie. I don’t know what’s made you struggle with trust, but…”

He trailed off, staring intently at Eddie’s expression.

If he weren’t so heartbroken about having to end things with Waylon, Eddie would laugh at the irony. If only Waylon knew his past, he wouldn’t ask such a question. If only he knew what kind of price Eddie paid for only the slightest hints of love, Waylon would be horrified that anyone expected anything from Eddie Gluskin. If only Waylon...

“When....when I was little,” Eddie began, and he felt like he was back in the mental hospital, telling his therapist of the trauma of his childhood, “some very bad...very very bad things happened to me, Waylon. I’ve learned a lot from then, how to take care of myself, how to treat others...I swore I wouldn’t let anyone hurt me again. Not like that. Not like they did. Not like everyone always wants to.” He swallowed hard, “I don’t want to fight with you. I want to remember everything as perfect, and we were...but all good things come to an end...”

Waylon knew exactly what Eddie didn’t verbally detail for him, and it left him quivering inside, like he might deflate or crumble with a weight too heavy for him to bear. Of course Eddie wanted to end things. Look what love had done to him.

“That’s not true,” he said, ignoring his cracked voice. “Good things don’t end. They change, and depending on how you respond, they become even better than the good thing before it.”

Waylon had long since empathized with the little guy, scorned the big bullies, corporate or not, and the misery they spread like a plague. How it swelled the way it did now, maybe because of his personal connection to Eddie, he didn’t know, but it broke something in him that had him rushing forward and embracing Eddie fiercely.

“People hurt you badly, Eddie. It was wrong. It was awful, and that can never change...You say I’m so good and pure, but you don’t look at yourself. You’re not damaged, not to me, Eddie. I’d never, ever hurt you, never make you feel like you need to be bigger or stronger because of it, or close off your heart, or run away. Never. I’d die before that.”

This man was absolutely awful at letting Eddie break up with him. It almost brought the self-made tailor to tears, the way Waylon just never seemed to surrender their relationship. What had he done, falling for his neighbour hard enough to want him to do this kind of thing, to hold onto him because he wanted more than anything else to be together with Eddie Gluskin.

“How do you know...how badly people hurt me?” he asked carefully, arms wrapping around Waylon against his own will, nearly lifting the little man off of his feet.

Waylon didn’t want to say it aloud, because he knew it would disrupt the way Eddie held him and he held Eddie back. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to lie, not to Eddie. So, he did his best to prepare himself, took a deep breath and opened his mouth.

“Miles told me. He to-told me that...y-your...fa…”

It was an embarrassing spectacle, but Waylon choked on his words and knew he was crying as if it had been him and not Eddie that had been hurt.

“Miles?!” There was alarm in Eddie’s voice, and it wasn’t just because Waylon was shedding tears, probably for his sake. The tailor simply lifted Waylon, inside of his apartment and closed the door. No one needed to bear witness to this.

He put Waylon down on the sofa, large hands wiping away tears as Eddie knelt in front of him.

“Waylon...Waylon please...please tell me what you...what Miles knows,” his voice shook a little, with fear, with shame, and he looked haunted.

Waylon blubbered like the child he felt he was, sniffing and coughing. He hadn’t cried since he was thirteen, and that had been tears of frustration. This made him feel dizzy, his head was starting to throb, and he didn’t know if he could stop it.

He hardly felt being lifted in, but did feel the large hands wiping at his face.

“U-Um,” he hiccuped, forcing to take deep gulps of air so he could talk, somewhat, “th-that...your father and...uncle, they,” he shook his head violently, not wanting to say more on that, “and that your mom...she...she was...she let them and you were put in homes.” Eddie looked at him intensely, almost afraid, so he tried hard to remember everything. “I think he said you...checked out of a hospital...that’s all.”

He clasped his hands hard together, watching Eddie through rheumy eyes.

“God, Eddie, I’m so sorry...I can’t...begin to imagine…”

Eddie produced a clean handkerchief from somewhere, gently dabbing at Waylon’s face with it. Even when crying, the man looked beautiful. Didn’t matter that his eyes were puffy now, and his nose runny. Waylon looked beautiful, because he cried for Eddie. No one had done that. No one had simply felt terrible for his past. Everyone was always looking for reasons, for the damages done.

But simply sorry? 

“He must have researched me pretty well then,” he muttered, and he knew, Miles would be dangerous. A bored journalist was just about the worst neighbour he could imagine.

“It’s alright, Waylon, you don’t have to cry for me,” Eddie swallowed the big lump in his throat. This man was perfect, and he cared so deeply for him...His bride, really, for all intent and purposes.

“It’s all over now...they can’t hurt me anymore,” he said it as if he repeated it every night, “They can’t do those filthy, sick things to me anymore...you know, my mother watched sometimes. Watched and took pictures, laughed about it with them...She was supposed to love me...I asked her why she didn’t, once, you know? She said...I remember so clearly, I can still hear her voice. She said Eddie, don’t you know that love is shit? Learn to hate someone and you’ll be with them til they’re in the ground. That’s what I did, and look what came out of it. You’re a kid born of hate, Eddie, and you’re never gonna be nothing else.”

Waylon didn’t think it was possible to feel like he could keep crying. Eddie sealed that with that, and the tears continued trickling, and anger built up beneath the sorrow.

“It’s not alright!” His anger was not directed at Eddie. “Of course I have to cry! To know someone could do...say that to a child...it’s unacceptable and yet I can’t...I couldn’t be there to help you...I would have. I would have run away and brought you to my home.”

He sniffed and scrubbed at his face hard.

“She’s full of bullshit. She’s part of the cycle. You don’t...you’re not like…”

He cupped Eddie’s face firmly. “I don’t care if you were born of hate, you’re not hate. You’re not. I know it in how you hold my hand, how you let me lean into you when I get cold, how you light up when you eat my food, how you...kiss me...Someone should have cried for you a long time ago, Eddie.”

The tailor said nothing to it at first, just watching Waylon with an expression that vaguely resembled uncertainty and insecurity. Someone did cry, and it was Eddie. And his tears had been so plentiful, he doubted anyone could even still have any, for him. No one had particularly cared, of course.

And then, there was the trouble with relationships. There’d been one girl, one of the first he dated, whom he told his terrible history to. She’d cried, mostly out of shock. Then, something else.

“The...the last time I told this to someone...to someone I thought I could be in love with,” he tried not to look at Waylon too pointedly, but it was clear this was a similar situation, with just a few major differences.

“She didn’t call me for two weeks...said she couldn’t sleep, that she kept thinking about how horrible it must have been for me. I only loved her all the more for that, for her sympathy. We were together, maybe half a year by then...and she visited me. Seemed very...expectant. I think she did some research, because she told me she’d make it all better. So she wanted me to tell her everything, every detail. I...trusted her, so I did. I told her how they touched me, I told her what they made me do. She took it all in, but she didn’t cry again. Just listened.” Eddie swallowed thickly, any psychologist worth his salt would take this tale as the turning point for Eddie’s murderous passions, “And then, she asked me to...to roleplay. Said it would help me vent my emotions. I didn’t want to, but she insisted. And then she started talking like my father...tried to...force me to...” Another pause and Eddie squeezed the handkerchief in his fist, “I hurt her really badly, Waylon. And I loved her, but I hurt her so, so badly.”

Waylon listened through his own blubbering, unable to put a tap on it. The more Eddie talked, the more it made him want to cry harder. At least he managed to distracted himself by digging his nails into his thighs, taking in the implication that this girl might no longer be living a normal life. Or...alive.

“Eddie,” he whispered.

This time, his hands wrapped around Eddie’s head and tugged lightly to bury the man’s face in Waylon’s shirt, right where his heart was.

“She...wanted to save you, I...can...I get that. But Eddie, I...can’t. No one can. It’s something you live with, and help can...make it easier but,” he wasn’t sure where he was going. He stroked Eddie’s head, threaded his fingers gently through the patch of hair.

It seemed right to not say anything, to let his hands and heart do the talking. He didn’t ask if anyone knew about this girl. He didn’t ask for Eddie to share the intimate tortures of his abuse. He kissed his head, held him closer, nestled his head against Eddie’s.

Finally, he decided he could say something through his sniffling.

“I’m sorry...for all of it, Eddie...so sorry.”

Another peck to Eddie’s head, and he held on tighter. Waylon wasn’t going anywhere, not leaving to think, to have sleepless nights in bed.

Waylon was the one. Eddie knew it, knew by the way he held him close, the way his fingers touched Eddie’s skin like he was precious, precious, oh so fragile and precious. Waylon cared for him, and there was no lie, no deceit there. Waylon felt sorry for the horrible things of Eddie’s past, and the tailor felt his heart swell with need for this man. Waylon should be with him, he could chase away the nightmares, the horror, he could be his perfect wife, his alone. Eddie and Waylon. Til they were old and grey. Suddenly, breaking up with Waylon seemed a cruelty, even if it was for the man’s own sake, his safety.

“Waylon,” he whispered, head nestled against his chest, listening to his beautiful, steady heartbeat, “Waylon, I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to hurt you. I love you...I love you so much, it scares me and I would hate myself...more if I hurt you. You have to give me time...please, Waylon, don’t go away?”

Waylon didn’t stop spreading affection wherever his body could. His heart thumped harder, skipping a beat at the proclamation of love. Eddie loved him. Was that what he was feeling? Waylon realized he didn’t know.

It didn’t matter though. His tears continued, but the sniffling and other sounds tagged with it ebbed. He drew back to study Eddie’s face.

“It’s okay, Eddie,” he promised, thumbs brushing over those dark bruises under Eddie’s eyes. “If you hurt me, I’ll know it’s not on purpose. You can forgive yourself. I don’t know how long it’ll take you, but you can.”

He bumped his forehead against Eddie’s.

“Because I forgive you, for all the things you did wrong, might have done wrong, or will do wrong. And I’m here, okay? You’re in...a sensitive place. I won’t push you away, Eddie, or try to pull you in this direction or that because I think it’s good for you. I just want to hold you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Eddie repeated, and he screamed in his head for Waylon to understand what he meant to say. He didn’t want to kill Waylon. But he knew himself, and he knew he might, which was why he was trying to get Waylon to leave. He shouldn’t have told him of his love. It only made it harder.

“I’m not...crazy. I have control,” he whispered, looking at Waylon with reverence, if nothing else, “but there were times I didn’t. People...people died.”

It was a bitter, cold truth.

Waylon felt it claw through his insides, made him go stiff. All of Miles’ warnings rang shrill in his mind, images of Miss Summers, of now how possible it was she met a fate that stripped her future free.

It couldn’t be that true. 

Waylon understood, despite the reeling epiphany, what Eddie was trying to say now, but couldn’t bring himself to.

Slowly, he detached from Eddie. Not for long, for he, stiff limbs and all, sat down on the floor beside Eddie, took a large hand. A hand that had killed. How, why exactly, and how, Waylon still did not know. It was a hand capable of so much violence, born from violence.

He pressed his face into it and shut his eyes.

“We all die,” he said, “and you’re...terrified you’d hurt me that way. Aren’t you? For me though...leaving you alone, letting you lose yourself to...what’s happening to you, that would kill me the worse way. It’d be...rotting inside me, killing me slowly, a terrible death that no medicine can sure. And I choose not to die that way, Eddie.”

Eddie hadn’t exactly confessed to the murders, but at least now Waylon knew what he was capable of. Mostly. And that...felt good. Because Waylon wasn’t running, wasn’t calling the police. Waylon wanted to be with him because nothing would hurt him more than to leave Eddie alone. The tailor drew his boyfriend in for an embrace, one so tight he couldn’t escape even if he wanted to. He buried his head in Waylon’s neck, soaking up the heavenly scent of his love. This one, wonderful man who wanted Eddie to be okay.

“Do you mean it? Even knowing what I’ve done? That I’ve hurt people like that? Waylon...Waylon, why would you do something like that?”

Waylon collapsed into him, tugging at his shirt, his muscles, anything to bring them closer. He buried his face in Eddie’s neck, feeling shivers rack through his smaller frame. He held Eddie like the lifeline he was becoming.

“I can’t leave you, Eddie. I know you’ve done bad things. I know it. I’m doing it because...because maybe no one cares, Eddie, maybe they rather see you locked up forever, but I care. I fucking care about what happened to you, and...it did something to you. You don’t hurt others because you like it. I know you don’t.”

He leaned back, desperate, and kissed Eddie hard.

“Putting away would hurt you. They won’t take care of you. They won’t see what I see...and I see someone beautiful. Hurt, and beautiful. S-So...that’s why.”

Waylon was definitely the most wondrous and perhaps kindest being on the planet. Eddie knew that now, and he wasn’t willing to let go of the notion, possibly not ever. Had life finally deemed him worthy of giving him something good to cherish? 

“Will...you stay the night, Waylon? Please...I just want to hold you as I sleep.”

Eddie seemed to be getting away from the whole breaking up business. It was clear Waylon was his and he belonged to Waylon, no question about it.

Waylon answered by guiding Eddie up. By now, his tears had calmed, streaking his face a mess. He averted Eddie’s workroom and stepped into what had to be the bedroom, or the barest impression of one.

Not particular right now, he toed off his shoes and crawled into bed, still tugging Eddie along until they were nestled under the covers, his back to Eddie’s chest, hand encouraging Eddie’s to drape around him.

It felt right.

Waylon didn’t care that the bed was mediocre. Eddie made up for it. He pulled the hand up to kiss it, caring even less that he was proving to be as neurotic as the tenants of the apartment building.

“My mom told me something a long time ago, when I came home upset because I got bullied for the first time. I was mad at him, but she told me that even those who’ve done the worst, deserve good. And more good would come from it.”

And until now, he thought it was a half-ass way of telling him not to retaliate. Now though he believed her wisdom, tucking deeper into Eddie, knowing he’d be disturbed and horrified by whatever it was that was to come.

But Eddie had been hurt enough. Even he earned something good, and Waylon hoped it was himself.


	9. Chapter 9

“Waylon!” Miles hissed in his roommate’s ear, early next morning. The software engineer was still in Eddie’s bed, albeit alone under the plush cover. His journalist friend crouched by the bed, looking extremely agitated.

“Come on bud, time to wake up and get out of here.”

Waylon had slept heavily, despite the haunting images of Eddie’s past abuse. Crying exhausted him. Waking up, however, came rudely and he bolted up with a surge of panic, disorientated.

“M...Miles?” He blinked hard, eyes crusted. He scrubbed at them. “What’s going on? Where’s Eddie?”

“In his workroom. Got up real early and started banging around, woke me up and everything. I thought I was gonna find your corpse or something, man! I let myself in,” and didn’t Miles look utterly thrilled at the thought of doing something Eddie would hate, “But I see he only took you nap-hostage. And? Did he tell you? Did you find out?”

Waylon groaned, head throbbing. Whether from the crying bout yesterday or Miles’ tenacity, he could think over later when he wasn’t on the crest of drifting back out of sleep.

“I willingly stayed,” he needed to point out. “We talked. A lot. Miles, look, you...might have been right, but...I don’t want anyone to hurt Eddie. What...What the hell are you doing in here? You need to get out!”

“What? I came to get you! I thought you were trapped! Come on bud, get your ass out of bed, we need to talk. You need to tell me everything and don’t give me the ‘its private’ crap because you wouldn’t even know if it weren’t for me.”

Miles was pretty persistent at pulling on Waylon, heaving him out of bed despite the smaller man’s protests.

“You really need to tell me everything. He’s a serial killer psycho, isn’t he?”

Waylon hissed and flailed pathetically. Sleepiness and Miles topping him in height and weight made his resistance futile. So, admitting defeat, he squirmed and tugged on Miles’ ear to get his attention.

“Look, we’ll talk in a bit, okay? Just get out of here,” he tried shoving Miles out, “I need to say bye to Eddie first. I’m not just leaving without talking to him. Go!”

“Are you crazy too now? Oh my god, don’t tell me you promised to conspire with him! Am I next? Shit, I am, aren’t I? You’ll never take me alive, the truth will be known!” Miles must have been up all night, with at least two pots of coffee and energy drinks, because he was definitely in a mood beyond sanity.

Instead of the door, he went to the window, climbing out onto the ledge that ran beneath it along the wall over to their balcony.

“If you’re not home in twenty minutes I’ll call the police!” Miles hissed as he shimmied along the wall.

Waylon had rushed after him, slamming into the window sill in time to see his crazy roommate scramble like a squirrel back to their place, a bundle of restless energy that was going to lose him a few fingers or snap his neck one day.

It was too early for this.

He pressed a hand to his forehead, inhaled deeply, and made his way back to the hallway. At the workroom, he knocked.

“Hey,” he greeted from one side of the door. “I woke up and you were already out of bed. Isn’t it like an ungodly hour to be awake?”

“God’s got nothing to do with it,” The door swung open rather suddenly, Eddie surging from the room and slinging Waylon into his arms, greeting him with a deep kiss instead of breakfast. It was a reasonable exchange, really. With the door to his room so wide open, it exposed a new dress on the center mannequin. But the mannequin wasn’t female this time, and the dress, or what was arranged of it so far, looked far more spectacular than anything Eddie had let Waylon see.

“Did you sleep well, darling?” Eddie cooed softly, unable to let Waylon even out of his grip.

The kiss had proved more effective than coffee. Waylon felt alert and moaned into the kiss, allowing Eddie to spin him around and hold him dear. He laughed, and it felt more powerful than any other laugh he’d had. Maybe it was the result of being fresh from crying.

“You’re in a good mood. I’m glad,” he said, peeking around into the room. “It looks like you’re working on a new project? Being productive?”

“Oh!” Eddie reached back and slammed the door shut in Waylon’s face. “Darling! No peeking!” Eddie seemed to be in a fantastic mood, actually, he took Waylon’s hand and guided him to the kitchen, where the soft lull of a record playing underlined the air of comfort, enhanced by a stack of pancakes and a general breakfast spread.

“Strange...I swear I had a plate of bacon...” Eddie frowned as he let Waylon sit down.

“Doesn’t matter. I hope you’re hungry...I guess we still have to talk about some things, right?”

Waylon wanted to know more about the dress. Eddie’s good mood alleviated his curiosity. At least the tailor was busy and seemingly thrilled given their discussion last night. Was this the kind of happiness waiting to be tapped into thoroughly?

Waylon eagerly accepted breakfast, touched Eddie cooked for him. He coughed at the missing bacon, knowing exactly what crazy journalist had at his breakfast.

“Yeah, I guess we do. Listen, I don’t...want to rush things or make you feel pressured. I know I’m stubborn but I can be patient. I just...want us to handle things smoothly, as much as we can. We might disagree on some things but that’s okay. I didn’t run away, right?”

He quirked a brow, still smiling. “You know, you look even more handsome when you’re smiling like that? Like you’re happy from the inside out.”

“I woke up and you were sleeping in my arms,” Eddie sipped at his coffee, sighing like a star-struck fool in love. Maybe he was. Really, for all the hate he’d known in his life, Eddie Gluskin was a pretty loving man.

“And I thought...it couldn’t get any better. You really want to be with me...and there’s no greater blessing than that. I would...I would do anything for you Waylon. Anything! And...I never, ever want to...break us apart. Never.”

Waylon chuckled, chin in palm, simply admiring how lovely Eddie could be. This was Eddie, not the violent storm that tried to overpower him. However, that part of him still existed, untamed for years. Waylon remembered that.

“I’m happy you aren’t pushing me away.” He reached over and clasped his hand over Eddie’s. “It’s good to be hopeful. It’s also wise to make sure we...understand what we’re doing.”

He hesitated, swallowed, then went on. “Whatever...you did or...have been doing, I’d also be in a lot of trouble for not reporting it. Doesn’t matter I don’t know what it is exactly. I’m risking a lot, but it’s not just for you. It’s...for us. It’ll be a lot of work and I don’t know how long it’ll take but you deserve the best, Eddie, really. A beautiful home, a...family, if you’d like that later on.”

“I would...love that,” Eddie spoke softly with Waylon, as if he could make up for what happened the night before. If only he could wash himself clear of the filth, the things he’d done wrong, the bodies he’d collected and strung up...he’d be free to pursue a beautiful life with Waylon, free of worry or guilt.

But he had skeletons in his closet, literally. A rooting ceiling of bodies that would find no quick hiding spot if discovered.

“Do you...do you think you could want to know?” Eddie asked carefully. It would be a real test of Waylon’s dedication, true.

Waylon sighed, setting down his cup and rubbing his temples. The answer had been bubbling within him for a while, and he knew it would come out easily.

“Yes...but not now. I want to say I don’t need to know, but I think that’d be...harmful. I don’t think I could be a fitting partner if I brushed it off like it was nothing.” He nodded, satisfied, if terrified. “What I really want...is to work with you, figure out how to...stop it. But I think, and this is just my opinion, we should give ourselves time. A day or so just to...unwind. Last night really tired me out.”

He reached back out and took Eddie’s hand.

“I think to start with, is that I know you can trust me. I don’t want anyone to hurt you, Eddie, but I’m not...able to hurt others to stop that. So I have to fight them my own way.” He got up and, after a moment, slipped into Eddie’s lap easily. “You mean more to me than...anyone. Ever.”

“You mean that, don’t you?” Eddie whispered now, there was no distance between them and he could feel how content he was, just to have Waylon right there in his arms. His Waylon. His partner, his love. It was warm and radiant and Eddie clung to it with desperate hope.

“I trust...you, Waylon. I do. I know you don’t want to hurt me, you don’t want to hurt anyone at all. You’re a little too good for this world, darling,” Eddie nuzzled Waylon’s stomach, “but I swear, no harm will ever come to you. I’d rather die.”

“God, don’t say that, Eddie.” He rested his hands atop Eddie’s head, blushing at the way his stomach was showered with attention. “It means more to me that you’re alive, than dead. I mean it. No matter what. Please. Promise me you’ll fight to stay alive. I’m not as good as you think I am. I think I’d be...too broken if you were gone. I’m not strong like you are.”

He allowed Eddie to nuzzle all he wished though he kept an eye on the time. He believed Miles would be stupid enough to call the police, but he somehow doubted they would take him seriously. He must have left them with bad tastes in their mouth.

“Promise, okay? It’s important to me and I’m sorry if I’m unfair to ask it.”

He was definitely as unstable as Miles.

“I promise I’ll never willingly leave you alone,” Eddie seemed to have committed himself to this idea of being with Waylon entirely. Whereas he’d been hesitating just last night, today, he was ready to lay the world at Waylon’s feet.

There was no way back out from this type of devotion, and if Miles were here, he’d have run like a panicked deer in Waylon’s position.

“Maybe we can...continue, as we were before? I loved every evening we spent together, every minute you were in my company. You...you made me feel wanted, cared for. You don’t know how much that means to me, Waylon.”

Waylon tilted Eddie’s head up to kiss him, enjoying the freedom he had in it. The world blurred with each kiss, with every look Eddie cast his way.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” he said, then laughed as he bullied out of Eddie’s grip slightly. “Which means I need to get back to my place and make sure Miles hasn’t eaten the sofa. I have to finish some work but...I’m free tonight. Maybe this time we can stay inside, watch a movie together?”

Eddie mourned for the loss of Waylon from his lap, but his eyes indulged, and savoured. Waylon should just live here, by his side, waking up in his bed every morning and sleeping in his arms every night

“Definitely. But this time, I will cook. You’ll see I’d make a decent husband yet.”

Waylon shrugged playfully, not disliking the idea of being pampered.

“Guess I’ll hold you to it,” he said.

A final, sweet kiss, and he reluctantly left the apartment and slipped back into his own. Not to relax, as he wanted, but to face Miles. Everything rushed back at him like a wave, knocking him against the wall. He stayed there, counting his breathing, unable to get up though.

“Miles?” he called.

No answer. Typical of the reporter, to threaten Waylon with a time limit without keeping himself to it. It was ten minutes of silence in the apartment, before someone was clambering in over the balcony, someone who sounded out of breath and a little sick.

“Waylon?!” Miles almost screamed into the apartment, scattering various items as he pulled open drawers and pantries, clearly searching.

“Waylon!?”

By then, Waylon’s anxiety attack had softened to a nuisance. He managed to get up and hurry over to the source of the commotion, believing Miles had gotten hurt.

“Miles, I’m here. What’s wrong?” he sounded breathless as if he’d been running. “Miles, look at me, what’s going on?”

“Oh my god, Waylon, shit, you won’t even...have you seen my camcorder?” Miles barely had time to look at his roommate, then he suddenly stopped and lowered his voice.

“Is Gluskin busy? Because this...this is it. You gotta come with me. But he can’t know.”


	10. Chapter 10

Waylon fumbled but managed to fish out the camcorder for Miles. Strange that he now knew where Miles put his things better than Miles.

“He’s busy,” he confirmed, following his roommate. “What...What is it?”

“Good.” Miles didn’t say anything, simply packing his flashlight and his camera, guiding Waylon out into the hallway. They passed Gluskin’s door, and the soft notes of the gramophone were still audible. Even better.

They headed past the elevator, to an old staircase, caged and locked as it lead to the unrenovated wing of the building. Miles spent about half a minute picking the lock with Waylon as lookout. But nothing disturbed them, and Eddie’s door remained closed.

The old ward, the female ward as a dusty old sign proclaimed, was dilapitated, filthy, run-down and just a little creepy. It was hard to believe this was the same building as their wonderful, furnished apartments.

But Miles didn’t stop to investigate anything. Not yet.

The stench was their guide, really. It grew and grew, invasive and grotesque, it lead them to the gym of the old asylum. An intricate network of ropes filled the air, and each of them lead to a horror.

Miles nearly threw up, but instead, he held up the camcorder.

“Holy fucking christ.”

Waylon knew that truth he’d been wanting to procrastinate on because he knew he was not fit to handle it haunted the female ward. It was a feeling that started small and festered into a gaping wound the deeper Miles guided him in.

He couldn’t even ask how Miles found the place.

He made the mistake of looking up.

Oh, God.

Bodies. So many bodies. Strung up. Bled out. 

Waylon didn’t feel himself stagger back into a wall or fall onto his backside. He couldn’t stop staring. The scream built through him and went into his palm.

Miles was somewhere between triumphant and nauseous. The bodies were female, and their numbers coincided with the missing persons’ report. There was no doubt, if he identified each of them, they’d be those women, and all of them would be tied to Eddie Gluskin in one way or another.

“Holy shit, this is sick. So fucking sick! Waylon, we have to...we have to go to the police. They can’t fucking deny this shit!”

It was the only thing that grounded Waylon enough. He reacted, springing to his feet, clinging to Miles’ arms like a rabid animal.

“No! You can’t! Please, Miles, that’s the worst thing that you can do! Not the police, please!”

“Are you crazy?! Are you not seeing there’s CORPSES in this room?!” Miles stared at the night vision of his camcorder, absolutely on the edge of either a freakout or a breakdown. Either way, this was the evidence he needed. This would put Eddie, if found guilty, in prison for life, or even executed.

“Waylon, okay, try not to think of him as you like to, and imagine...no, just look! He killed these women! You know that! He’s a killer!”

“No!” It mattered that these women had paid a price for Eddie’s trauma. No, Waylon couldn’t excuse what Eddie had done. He’d killed these women, each of them, trauma or not.

Still, he felt a surge of power come over him, making him shove Miles hard into a wall, clutch him like you’d have to saw off his hands to get him off.

“You can’t call the police! He needs help, not...they’ll make him a fucking statistic, they’ll hurt him! Please, please,” he was vibrating with desperation and maybe rage, but its origin was a mystery to him. Tears spilled heavily, his voice a mess.

He dropped his head to Miles chest, held on tighter.

“Please...he’s...not...just a killer...Miles…”

“You. Are. Cuckoo fucking crazy, Waylon Park,” Miles hissed, and as much as he hated seeing his roommate and friend so distressed, there was nothing he could do differently. Eddie was a menace to society, no matter how good he looked in a tux, and no matter how well he could sew dresses.

“Look, they’ll probably put him in a hospital, you know, for the criminally insane. He’ll be okay, they’ll help him, and he’ll...be safe. From harming others. You can still see him and-”

Miles lost his voice as they lost the light from the corridor. Someone had switched it off.

“Oh shit! He’s here!”

Waylon startled at the darkness, instantly hating how exposed he felt despite the loss of light shining on him. He forgot about Miles’ talk as the realization that Eddie was coming down.

He didn’t want to hide, but that meant exposing Miles’ involvement. But then what? Miles would blab to the police. There was no changing his mind.

Waylon clutched Miles harder.

“Promise you won’t call the cops. Not yet. Promise or I’ll scream. Right now.”

Miles squirmed in the clutch, but didn’t speak just yet. Stubborn tenacity would have him try for Waylon’s patience, as it were.

Footsteps came closer, along with a hum. Eddie was still in a good mood, and he seemed undisturbed by the presence of corpses. He looked dapper as ever, even as he came right into the room.

“Ah, you whores are really starting to stink. Must be the truth of your filthy souls...I think it’s time I got rid of each of you. You see, I’m happily in love,” the first body crashed from the ceiling, rotting and bones cracking. Eddie seemed undisturbed still, unveiling an axe and a long knife with which he began to take the body apart.

“There’s no need to have you around anymore. No sir. What was that? You don’t believe me? Well, of course not. A slut like you would never understand the heart of a good man. My fella makes you all look like...well, what you truly are. Oh, my darling would make you all so envious.”

Forced into silence, Waylon pressed his eyes to his forearm, lying flat now under a well tucked table that had thin fabric now rotting away. He could hear what Eddie was doing. This was the man he wanted to keep part of society.

No, this was the part he wanted to help tame, to leave the real Eddie alone.

Oh, God that meant the time he heard Eddie cursing--

He suppressed a moan, knowing he was trembling again. He was involved in this. He couldn’t back out. He wouldn’t.

He grit his teeth and stayed quiet, disgusted with himself he felt better at hearing Eddie talk about him. 

It felt hours they were hiding while Eddie...did what he had to do to dispose of some of the bodies. Clearly he couldn’t do it all tonight. He had a date planned. All Waylon knew was by the time Eddie had left, he felt like he was in a dream.

Carefully he crawled out, the darkness still trying to devour him. He stared ahead though, then turned, spotting the dot of light signaling where Miles was, and, more importantly, his camcorder.

“I can’t let you go to the police, MIles,” he said, in a voice too calm for how he felt.

Miles sat there, as ash-grey as the blood-drained bodies above them still. He held his camcorder to his chest, shaken from what they’d both witnessed.

“You really are crazy. Imagine if it was Lisa up there. This man kills people, Waylon. He’s sick. I get it, his past and all that got to you. You want to help him, fix him, because you’re into him. But this is too dangerous, Way. I can’t let you do it. I have to go.”

Waylon knew that. But he meant what he said, unable to let Miles go to the police.

“I’ll tell him,” he said suddenly, severely, threateningly. “If you don’t give me time...I’ll tell Eddie you dragged me down here.”

“What?!” Miles couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He stared at Waylon, saw the distance in the man’s eyes. Oh christ. What had Gluskin done to his roommate, that he would be so incredibly supportive of a monster, a serial killer?

“What the fuck, Waylon? What is wrong with you? Do you need to end up hang like a fucking carcass too, before you get it? Shit man, what do you think will happen if you tell him you know? He’s not gonna turn himself in.”

“Then at least I’ll hang knowing I didn’t throw him away like everyone else did!” Waylon slashed his arm across the air, though Miles couldn’t see the act. “I’m not letting someone hurt him. He needs help. I know that. I know...I...I’m fucked up for thinking this. I know that. But I...I’m doing what I think is right. Eddie...he’s not just…”

He knew he made no sense. He knew everyone would turn Eddie in right away. 

“You’ll get your chance,” he said. “Until then...please.”

He hurried out, stumbling in the dark, unable to handle the darkness anymore.

Eddie Gluskin might have been part monster.

Waylon didn’t want to go back to his place. He didn’t want to be on the floor at all. He opted to take the staircase to the roof to suck in the cold morning air. There, he sat, knees to his chest, anxiety mounting, exhaustion returning.

Every monster had its reason for being one. 

Waylon wasn’t going to let the monster keep growing.


	11. Chapter 11

He fell asleep right there on the roof thinking over that.

Falling asleep on a rooftop had several drawbacks. One, the sun would give Waylon a nice burned nose for his negligence and two, there was no alarm to wake him. Which meant he slept right past the arranged time for meeting Eddie.

The tailor awaited him anxiously, dinner cooling on the lovingly decorated table as Eddie stared at the clock. Ten minutes late? 

Maybe...no, he had to push that horrible feeling away. Waylon wasn’t like the others. Waylon wouldn’t try to ditch him, leave him, run away. Not his Waylon. Not at all.

Waylon was fifteen minutes late, and had staggered downstairs like a madman. He’d awoken with a start from nowhere, felt his body aching and burning from the ground and sun. Thoughts of Eddie triggered his swift descent to Eddie’s door, panic giving him speed.

What time was it? Had Miles called the police?

He knocked frantically at Eddie’s door.

“Eddie! Eddie, are you in there? Eddie, are you okay!”

“Waylon, what’s the matter?” Eddie opened the door immediately, he’d been secretly hoping Waylon would appear at the arranged time. He was late, and that was a concern. Had something happened? Had Miles finally snapped? There was something wrong with that man, and Eddie didn’t like how much influence he had over Waylon.

“You sound like something’s hunting you.”

Waylon relaxed enough to confirm that Eddie was indeed fine. He must have looked a mess, hair sticking up, skin marred with indents and redness from the sun.

“You’re okay,” he said, pressing his hand to his head. “I...Sorry. I...had a fight with Miles and went upstairs to the roof. I dozed off and when I woke up, I was scared. Like I had come out of a bad dream.”

Seeking comfort, he went to Eddie’s chest and settled there.

“I’m late and not even changed or washed. Sorry…”

“Do...” Eddie looked Waylon over for injuries, just in case. Miles was becoming a problem. Eddie didn’t usually contemplate killing anyone he knew, well, not anyone that lived so close to him, but Miles’ snooping had been trouble the moment he moved in.

Perhaps it was time to fit him for a dress...of the deadly kind.

“Do you want to stay here? If it’s that bad between you?”

Waylon leaned back slightly, taken aback that Eddie willingly allowed him to stay here, to take part in his privacy. He swallowed hard, remembering that part of Eddie he had listened to hours earlier in the ward.

“It’s...complicated.”

He hesitated, then tugged Eddie inside once the door was properly shut. He guided him to sit on the couch beside him.

“Eddie...there’s...proof of things you’ve done, isn’t there?” He tightened his hold on Eddie’s hand. “If there is, I need you to...get rid of it. All of it. As fast as possible.”

That had the tailor frown. Why would Waylon assume there was evidence, unless he’d...had he checked the lock before going in the old wing today? Eddie felt his blood chill. What...if Waylon had seen it? It made no sense for him to go there, but on the off chance he did, would have seen all of Eddie’s handiwork. Think him a monster, no doubt.

“Waylon...what did you and Miles fight about?” he asked, tone very, very reserved.

Waylon inhaled sharply. There was no way he could lie to Eddie. He didn’t have it in him, and if he ever did, he knew it wouldn’t be prudent.

“I saw it,” he whispered, a shiver passing through him. 

His smile was apologetic, and he should have been surprised how easily moved closer, resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Oh, Eddie...all this time...you’d been hurting so much, and I was stupid. I never suspected at the beginning...th-that...you hurt so much. Yes, I saw it. It’s...horrifying, of course it is. I wish...I had only met you sooner.”

Eddie was frozen, both with shock at the fact Waylon had admitted to it, and moreso at the way Waylon treated him now. As if he understood. As if it didn’t bother him at all. As if he still saw Eddie as human, and one who desperately needed help at that.

“...What...why did you go there?” he whispered.

Waylon did not deny he was repulsed and terrified by what he’d seen. Just as he could not deny that the urge to keep Eddie from being victimized more eclipsed all else. Part of him indeed wanted to run away, such a small voice that he struggled to hear it with each passing day.

“Miles brought me,” he said.

He sat back, touched Eddie’s face, as if knowing panic would come for him.

“I’m not letting him go to the police. They won’t lock you up, not…”

Eddie did need serious help, but with the way things stood now, it was going to hurt him more. Waylon had to formulate a plan.

“Eddie, you do need help, the kind that requires proper doctors, a psychiatrist that isn’t looking to just pump you up with drugs. Jesus, this makes me a conspirator, but, God, Eddie, I can’t let you be taken like that.”

He knew exactly what he was saying. At some point in his new residence, Waylon had squirmed free of the bonds of his older life. Shyness, hesitance, the cap over his irritation or anger he kept in check. Now, sitting there with Eddie, overwhelmed by fear, he never felt quite so free.

Waylon was as loony as everyone else in here. It just took him longer than others. Maybe the asylum-turned apartment had called to him. Cheap, yes, but perhaps he knew all along there would be oddballs hoarding in the same building, people like him who seemed to view the world a little differently, silently so though.

The mundane, pleasant life had been offered to him. He threw it all away when he now threaded his fingers with Eddie’s, locking them together.

“I’m going to need your help with Miles.” He leaned closer, speaking in that tone he had surprised Miles with back in the ward. “Not to kill him. No matter how much you might think that’s best. We’re not...not that. Something else.”

Eddie was dumbstruck by this Waylon Park. He...he wasn’t ranting about Eddie’s insanity, about how terrible he was and a monster should him should be thrown into jail...No. He still stuck by Eddie. Whatever spell the tailor had mastered on his neighbour, it was still strong.

He’d never been so impressed with anyone in his entire life.

“Waylon...” Eddie stared at him, wanted to decode his gaze, anything to prove Waylon was in fact not a figment of his imagination, “you really...you’re serious...you don’t..hate me?”

“I’m scared of what you can do, Eddie,” Waylon said, his voice returning to his usual self, lined with fear, hesitation, lack of confidence. “And I hate...what you did, those women…”

He forced the thoughts at bay, pulling the images of Eddie’s smile forward. He squeezed their clasped hands harder.

“But I don’t hate you. That’s not who you truly are. I’m,” he steeled himself, “I’ve seen parts of you that aren’t fake. Your real smile. Your kindness, your desire to want a good future where you’re not giving into the temptations of that...darkness in you. Because I’ve seen that, no, I don’t hate you. I...love you.”

Those were words Eddie had not heard in a long time, and certainly never in light of his terrible actions. Waylon was probably just as crazy as the rest of the tenants now. Definitely as crazy as Eddie.

“Oh...darling...” he muttered, drawing Waylon close and closer. So instead of turning him in to the police, Waylon was going to stand by him. Eddie could have melted for the software engineer right there and he knew his heart had not been lying to him about Waylon Park.

“You...you are incredible.”

He shouldn’t be so awestruck by his caring boyfriend, however, and really tend to that rotting evidence in the abandoned asylum wing. Especially because one Miles Upshur was staring at his laptop, wondering why he hadn’t hit send yet. If he did this, everything would change. But it was his duty to unveil the truth, to bring people like Eddie Gluskin to justice, right?

Waylon knew no one else would call him that. Though what did their opinion matter? Eddie didn’t deserve to be put in a cell, forever left to his maddening self. Eddie did terrible things, and maybe that’s why he needed the light touch of a hand than the cold bars of a cell.

Waylon wasn’t stupid to think that meant all was well. Eddie still was unstable.

“Can you stay here for a minute, then? I need to talk to Miles. I might need your help but I’ll let you know when I do.”

“Will you be safe?” Because that had now moved to number one priority for Eddie. Waylon had found his way into his heart and made it his, his entirely. If anything happened to Waylon, Eddie was pretty sure he would slaughter anyone that crossed his path in retribution. Especially Miles.

Waylon nodded, then kissed Eddie. He allowed his fears to bleed into it, flushing as much of it out before more would refill it. It allowed his adoration to work through, a stronger sensation than all his fears. It was dangerous.

It seemed even Waylon Park had his streak of danger. It was a danger that could not match Eddie’s, however, and he knew no one could be equipped to handle Eddie, not alone.

“I’ll scream for anything,” he promised, getting up, feeling a strange empowerment over Eddie’s trust in him.

He offered a weak smile back at Eddie, trying not to remember the ward. Maybe Miles’ detachment was starting to rub off. Or not. As soon as Waylon stepped out, it overwhelmed him. It seemed without Eddie’s gentleness in his presence, he was as feeble as any man who saw what he saw.

A man who wasn’t reporting what he saw.

Waylon managed back into the apartment, spotted Miles on the laptop.

“You can’t send it even if you wanted to,” he said, locking the door. “I messed the internet up. A few days ago when you were talking about Eddie again.”

He was equally unequipped to handle Miles.

So, blindly, he went over, sat near his roommate.

“The world...doesn’t need to know everything, Miles,” he said. “I know you don’t want to be part of this, have...potential victims on your hand…But you...think about it.”

He was grasping at straws, humoring something Miles had said to him about Eddie that, at the time, had paled before the misery and distress of his childhood.

“There could be something bigger here, Miles. Think about it. Eddie...yes, you were right. You were so fucking right. Eddie is not stable. Any psychiatrist should have known. There is no way he should have been checked out. I….”

He hesitated then spoke in a whisper.

“Murkoff is who I work for, remember? They...work on these ‘charity’ projects that don’t make sense. I remember looking at old files when I was working them into a new system. It said they worked with more than one mental hospital. Miles, if I can prove that they work with that hospital Eddie was in...then we do have a monster on our hands, and it’s not Eddie.”

“Okay one, fucking up the internet is definitely against roommate rules. Seriously dude. Two, you’re absolutely nuts, and you know that, right?” Miles was over his shock, mostly. He’d thrown up twice, sat in the shower for twenty minutes, then drank three beers and stared at the wall after storing what was on the camcorder on his hard drive.

“The man next door. Just so you clearly, and I do mean clearly, understand, has killed at least a dozen women and is keeping their rotting corpses in our house. Corpses. In. The. House. There is a serial killer living next door, and all you wanna do is date him? Waylon I don’t know what he did to get you so...insane on him, but he has to go away. Hospital or jail or whatever. He can’t be here, living next to us baking fucking pies or whatever!”

His roommate’s plan sounded like an interesting case, but not the most pressing affair. Waylon was definitely off his rocker though if he thought Miles was going to withhold this information. But then again, arguing with a crazy man was dangerous too. What if Waylon decided that his little romance was more important than his roommate? Eddie would certainly know how to get rid of one snooping journalist...

Okay, maybe he couldn’t be quite so stubborn here. Waylon already had that crazy bride look in his eyes.

“Look...look, okay, I’ll...make a deal with you. If...if you get Gluskin to check into a hospital...better yet a real asylum, I’ll...get rid of this. I’m gonna guess you encouraged him to get rid of the evidence a little faster, right? Yeah, I thought so. But we’ll go after Murkoff, and your beloved psycho won’t get to hurt any more people.”

Only Miles had successfully triggered his bristling so easily. Yet what protests he had floundered; Miles spoke with the logic he agreed with and simultaneously fought against. Still, he wasn’t stupid. He knew Miles was wary that Waylon would prioritize Eddie, and that meant Miles was as useful as garbage. A good husband like Eddie would take him out.

“I know I’m thinking crazy, okay? But I am not totally in the wrong. He needs help. He’s been fucked over too many times. It’s not fair that he...Yes, he did...awful things. Those girls didn’t deserve to die and I’m not saying what happened makes it okay. I’m saying what happened to him explains it. You can still sympathize and not condone something…”

He swallowed hard and rubbed his head. Nothing could get the images of those corpses out.

“Okay. You’re right. He...does need help. A hospital kind of help. We can figure out things after that.” He exhaled. “Yes. He’ll get rid of the evidence, but...I’ll tell him how. I can’t just let them be forgotten. Their families need closure. I’ll deal with it. Just...thank you, Miles. I know I’m turning out a case, alright? I have to live with that.”

He tried to smile. “Sorry for the internet. But you were driving me nuts. You’re a little crazy too.”

“Dude. Waylon.” Miles didn’t even know where to begin on the nutjob in his apartment. Who could have known what kind of psycho lurked in Waylon Park, unassuming software engineer and designer, the mousiest kind of guy you could wish for in a roommate...

“Don’t...think I’m gonna play house with that sick fuck though. You help him...cover up his fucking murder spree, and then you get him locked away. I’m serious, Waylon. Maybe you should see a psychiatrist too. Kinda need it. I’m going out. Don’t think I’ll be home tonight.”

Waylon sighed and collapsed his upper body onto the table once Miles left, his reluctance and bitterness still potent in the air.

Maybe Waylon should see a quack. After all, who was the weirdo? The serial killer psycho next door or the guy who falls for him?

-x-

Waylon had never broken a law in his life. He hadn’t so much as gotten a ticket, though he rarely went out as it was. So tickle him crazy when he began helping Eddie handle the corpses (not directly, lest he faint). He told them where they had to be dropped, how to alter their...bodies so it matched the MO of another killer recently caught a few states over.

It was better the family didn’t know of Eddie’s involvement, of how these innocent women had been viewed as whores when they weren’t.

More than a handful of times did Waylon put his skills to use. Really, he should have been a tech guy for the CIA or something. He knew he had the skills for it, but he’d never been trustworthy of big government overall. Thus the more practical use of assisting a psycho.

Miles was Miles about it all, antsy but being true to his word. Waylon had to make it up to him somehow for involving himself as well. For once, he stopped messing with the internet. Small steps.

As Eddie continued doing...whatever he did Waylon asked, the software engineer began looking into reputable hospitals. It took days to find one he liked, one that had no suspicions brewing inside him. He might have had to illegally access their network in spurts (too long on it would send off the alarm) to ensure they weren’t up to dirty things.

It was a good one.

He’d printed the papers (Eddie didn’t look much at laptops) and brought them over the following night to Eddie’s place, first greeting him with a kiss.

“Hey,” he said. “I know you’ve been very busy and doing things like I ask. I’m really...scared, actually, but glad you are. Look, sit. I know you’re hesitant about the...hospital thing, but I think I found one that we could talk about. Before you say no, know that it allows visitors at any time. That was my big thing. I need to be able to walk in whenever I want and not take them by surprise, you know? I don’t trust places that says I can’t come when I want.”

Eddie had been surprisingly compliant to Waylon’s directions as it were. Not that anyone would have suspected the unassuming nerd (cute as he was, still a nerd) to actually be incredibly adept at becoming a criminal. Mastermind would be going a little too far, but there was definitely something sinister about how Waylon directed Eddie to chop up the bodies, to copy-cat another killer’s MO. Let that be that particular monster’s problem. Eddie didn’t really feel that much attachment to the rotten corpses. 

Eddie didn’t really feel attachment to their murders anymore either. They seemed as unimportant as they were. Just rotten meat and bones, semblance of humanity long since gone. He was kind of happy to get rid of them. It was like cleaning out an old attic, getting rid of the dusty boxes, broken things of a past that bowed out before a bright new future.

And Waylon was Eddie’s future. Of that, he was sure. So sure he couldn’t even put it into words. He put it into his kisses, his touches, into the way he looked at his surprisingly thick-skinned boyfriend. Lover would be more fitting a term.

But now, Waylon was making good on that threat and promise. That Eddie would have to change, Eddie’s life needed a lift and Waylon was at the lever, poised and ready.

No more killing. That’s what Eddie had promised to Waylon, to his perfect love who wanted him despite the horrible, horrible things he’d done. Waylon who just seemed too radiant to be real.

“How...far away? Will you come every day?” Eddie looked around his apartment for a moment, before lifting Waylon’s hand and pressing a key to his palm, without explanation.

Waylon was about to answer when the metal pressed into his palm. He knew it to be Eddie’s apartment key. He stared at it, the weight of it so heavy and yet making him feel so light.

He fisted the key and looked up at Eddie.

“Not far,” he said. “About half an hour from here. And yes, of course I’ll come everyday, Eddie. That’s the point. But first, I’m going to go and check it out in person. Listen, they’re...supposed to be really good. And it’s patient-confidentiality. You can openly admit you’ve...k-killed women, and they can’t hurt you for that. I made sure. You have to be open with them, okay? It can’t...I wish I could help you alone, but I can’t, Eddie.”

He stepped closer, leaning against his man as he showed images he printed.

“It’s really nice. They aren’t going to drug you up. They have a lot of classes too, depending on how harmless you prove to be with time. Look, they even have a sewing class. You could work on designs, but...you have to earn the right. They don’t just give needles away easily. So, what do you think?”

He didn’t want to dampen Waylon’s hopes, but Eddie couldn’t bring himself to smile. A clinic was still a step removed from a hospital and from prison, but to him, the thought of people prying into his head wasn’t something he wanted to return to. The last time it had happened had been bad enough.

But there was light at the end of this tunnel. Waylon would see him, every day. And if it wasn’t helping..he maybe could get back out. Depending on what he told the psychiatrists.

“I...am willing to try. I don’t...I don’t know if it’ll work, Waylon. I might be there a lot longer than you think...”

Waylon lowered the papers, studying Eddie’s face.

“Hey, that’s all I ask. Is that you go and try. Take your time. They won’t push you.” The papers were set on the table, hands occupied holding Eddie’s face. “I’d wait years for you if that’s what it takes, Eddie. I can even attend therapy with you. Not all your private ones, but they have one for families.”

He imagined Eddie afraid, lonely.

“Think about us. I want...I want the future with us, but it’s not going to be easy. And...you might not be ‘cured’. But you can get better, and I’ll wait as fucking long as it takes. I’m at your side through it all, okay? And meantime...I’ll get ready. I’ll find us a...a nice house, yeah? You’d like that?”

Eddie nodded, struck mute by the sheer amount of support Waylon radiated. This man was a blessing, as he’d thought long ago. And maybe he was all Eddie had never gotten, yet earned by some bizarre twist of fate.

“I’d like that a lot.”

-x-

Once the decision had been felled, things went rather smoothly. Eddie let himself be signed into the clinic, with Waylon supporting him all the way. Finally, things were going to get better. Eddie even felt hope glimmer up in him after a tour of the clinic. Every patient looked somewhere between content and happy. Nobody had haunted eyes, nobody screamed, and the nurses and doctors attending to him were sweet as can be. He was in good hands. Maybe this really would help.

And for two months, everything was going perfectly. Waylon visited every day, as he promised. Eddie made improvements, small steps, gradually even halfway to confessing his dire deeds. He still found ways to dance around the actual words. No one needed to know he murdered for real. So he dressed it up as fantasies, which were plenty concerning to his psychiatrists already.

Still, they were pleased to report progress.

It was a Wednesday evening, and Waylon just returned from the clinic and a relatively happy Eddie. He didn’t even have to drive to the clinic, there was a bus that took him there and back.

In front of the apartment building, a sharply dressed man stuck out like a sore thumb. He had dark, slick hair and an easy smile resembling a shark.

“Mr. Park. So glad to finally meet in person.”

Waylon tensed instantly at seeing a man in a suit. Suits rang bells in his head. He bought time adjusting his messenger bag, keeping calm, calculating. Ever since Eddie had been checked in, he’d developed a cautious side of him in protecting Eddie and their future. Miles was perhaps the exception, instead Waylon spoiling him with meals and movies, and maybe breaking into intelligent databases to pick up on leads they had been following.

He looked around. Were the twins due to come out soon? Was he alone with this...creep?

“Who’s asking,” he said, keeping distance.

The man in the suit closed the distance, holding nothing in his hands to threaten Waylon’s safety with. He wasn’t all that much taller or more broad. But he definitely had an air of slick power about him.

“My name’s Jeremy Blaire. I’m your employer. Why don’t you take a walk with me, Mr. Park? I’m sure I saw a lovely little cafe, not too far from here.”


	12. Chapter 12

Waylon clenched his strap harder, suddenly wishing Miles was home, staring out the window like a pup waiting for his dinner. He also wished Eddie was here, just to use his presence to ward off this Jeremy Blaire.

He’d never met Blaire, having been hired through HR reps and given tasks via email. A couple of times he’d gone to various buildings he supposed the company owned to fix things. This though?

Biting his tongue, he began walking with Blaire, still keeping distance.

“To what do I...owe the surprise visit?”

Blaire fell into an easy, relaxed stride next to Waylon as they crossed over the street and headed for the tiny, family-run cafe the man had mentioned. It was rarely busy, and the booths were rather private. Perfect for any kind of serious conversation.

“Oh, don’t be nervous. I’ve been told about your excellent work and wanted to come out and meet you. Maybe I want to get to know one of my best employees. Who knows, maybe I even want to promote you.”

He didn’t really talk again until they had a booth far from the few regular customers, and menus in front of them. He ordered cheesecake and coffee.

“How do you like working for the Murkoff corporation, Mr Park?”

Waylon didn’t like settling into a booth that offered too much privacy. Well, he didn’t so much as settle as he sat stiffly, ordering water and nothing else. He looked at Blaire if only to not look so pathetic by staring down at the table.

“Well...I like the hours, being able to work from home. Good...benefits and pay. I’ve not had a problem…”

Blaire gave a little laugh that sounded about as genuine as a Hollywood starlet. He seemed perfectly relaxed here, as if he was having a late afternoon dessert with a good friend.

“I saw the building. It has potential, but it’s still a little run-down. You could actually be due for a rise in wage, considering all the improvements your work has achieved.”

Jeremy waited until there was cake and coffee in front of him, continuing the meaningless chitchat for a few minutes.

“I must say, I think we’re not giving you enough work with your talents, evidently. You seem to have a lot of spare time. Would you describe yourself as a curious man, Mr Park?”

If by curious one meant pursuing a psychotic killer as a mate that ultimately lead to your fall from law-abiding citizen to conspirer? Yes.

“Not particularly,” Waylon said, grateful to keep his hands busy with the glass of water. “I don’t have a lot of spare time. Just enough...but...why do you ask?”

“Not? That’s interesting,” Blaire busied himself with cake, still as relaxed as a man in a spa, “because you’ve certainly been doing some extracurricular activity on Murkoff servers, Mr Park. Or did you think you’d go by unnoticed?”

Blaire’s tone sharpened and commanded Waylon into staying right where he was.

“And your journalist friend is less than subtle, one could say.”

Waylon did stay put, if only because he knew danger, and knew that running would get him in deeper trouble. At least here he had hope that he could work around it. Had his arrogance caught up with him?

Swallowing the second heart that had sprouted in his throat, he took a sip of water.

“...I don’t like sharing my curiosity,” he said quietly. “I just...liked to see how far I could probe. I didn’t really look into anything or...plan it. I guess your servers are better guarded than I...expected.”

“Oh, Mr Park, there’s no reason to play coy with me,” Blaire finished his piece of cake and sipped coffee, tone still as pleasant as a guillotine.

“We know what you’ve been looking at. And I’m here to tell you, Mr Park...you’re treading on thin ice. Or perhaps more fitting, you’re about to go up the shit creek without a paddle.”

Blaire put down his coffee, taking out his phone and casually flicking through some files Waylon couldn’t see.

“How is Eddie Gluskin doing? His therapy seems to be going well.”

Waylon had felt the urge in his arm to punch someone before. Rarely, but it had happened, much like most people. This was the first time he felt the rage radiate through his entire body and almost had him lift off his seat.

Maybe he was more violent and crazy than he allowed himself to believe.

“Okay,” he said, remembering Eddie, their future. “What is this then? You aren’t...turning me over. Are you firing me?”

“Something like that. Except I won’t be firing you. You’ll finish the project you started for us, but you’ll do it for free. And you are going to do everything in your frail little life to shut that journalist Upshur up. If I find even a kilobyte about Murkoff that I don’t want...in the open, out there?”

Blaire’s smile was cold as ice.

“We’ll have a problem, Mr Park. Eddie Gluskin has made some interesting confessions, it’s very concerning for his doctors. They feel he might be very...very dangerous.”

Waylon had been fine enough sitting there, listening to this creep (confirmed) talk down to him. His intuition had been right about Murkoff. They were hiding something big, and now they wanted to ensure he didn’t know what it was.

However, at the mention of Eddie, fury had him slam his fists on the table. He didn’t feel the ache in his hands, didn’t notice anything beyond Blaire. He stared hard at him, trembling with violence.

Slowly he smoothed his palms flat on the table.

“Point made,” he said in a low tone. “I’ll take care of Miles.”

“Excellent. I’m so glad we had this little chat.” Blaire stood, dropping a decent amount of money on the table and leaving the booth. He flicked his hand at Waylon, the smile on his face satisfied and superior.

“I knew you’d understand, Mr Park. Looking forward to your continued good work.”

Waylon waited until he knew Blaire would not return. Then, he snatched the money, not intending to keep it for himself. He rushed to the bathroom, threw up, and chucked the cash in a garbage bin, wishing he could burn it.

He never felt so paranoid on the walk home, or hurrying up the stairs to his place.

Inside, he swept for bugs, checked his laptop, reinforced it, then texted Miles.

Big pizza in the oven. Hurry home.

On his path down criminal lane, he’d become anxious and refused to commit anything to writing, text or not. So he had developed codes for Miles. This one meant big trouble, though knowing Miles, he could easily believe there was a real pizza in the oven. Depended on his state of mind.

He didn’t have to wait long for the journalist to arrive at home. Miles looked a little windswept, his hair a mess, his clothes a little grungy. He might as well have slept under a bridge by the state of him. He had not, of course, he had a nice home to share with a psycho after all.

“Please tell me it hasn’t got pineapple on it, because I’m dying for mushrooms right now.”

The journalist pulled off his jacket and let himself drop onto the couch, easily crushing Waylon in his seat.

Waylon had made to jump up, but was quickly squashed, literally, but his moron of a roommate. He grunted and pushed at Miles, failing to wiggle free.

“You idiot, you forgot the code? It’s not a real pizza. We’re in big fucking trouble here!” He hissed, yanking on Miles’ ears to get his full attention. “An asshole named Jeremy Blaire came by. Threatened me. Threatened you. They’re on to us. They’re...fuck, Miles, they’re hiding something big, but we’re going about it the wrong way. We...need to back off, just for a month at most.”

As much as Miles loved food and hated being disappointed for it, there was nothing worse than putting a scoop in front of his nose and snatching it away.

Still, the explosion Waylon must be expecting was delayed, didn’t even seem to be building. Miles looked at him with a mixture of suspicion and guilt.

“Dude. Threatened you? Did he pull a gun or some shit like that? Wouldn’t put it past Murkoff at all. Not after the shit I’ve read about them, and the people I’ve talked to. It’s like they’re running hell’s asshole.”

Not one for delicates, Miles knew how to get his point across metaphorically better than anyone. Waylon strangely agreed, disgust aside. But Murkoff had threatened him, his fucking future. Eddie.

It was unfair when things caught up. Worse when you thought they had and learned in the worst way they hadn’t.

Waylon felt the tears before he heard himself make the least pleasing sounds. He covered his face with one hand, part of his breakdown a result of so much rage pent up toward Murkoff, toward Blaire.

“I...I can’t...l-let them hurt...Eddie’s made...so mu-much prog…”

A fit overcame him, choking off his words. He had only let Eddie see him like this, and he knew Miles was practically on his lap but even that couldn’t stop him from feeling so small and insignificant at that moment.

Well, the fit certainly helped Waylon get rid of one problem. Miles wasn’t all that good at comforting people, especially not when he held onto one big-ass secret that his roommate really needed to know about.

But Waylon was already halfway to a crisis, and far be it from Miles to actually make it worse, make his poor friend break under the pressure.

“Hey...Waylon, hey, bud, it’s alright,” Miles put a hand on Waylon’s shoulder, patting awkwardly, “Look, we’ll...ah...wait a bit. Gather some more dirt. Eddie’s doing okay, right? He’s gonna be fine, and you’ll go see him tomorrow and come back and be so happy you want to make that lamb stew again. You can even put on that horrible music you got from his apartment.”

Waylon sniffled and nodded, scrubbing his face, managing to crack a smile at Miles mentioning of his lamb stew. His roommate might have been a crazy son of a bitch who thought more with his stomach than anything else, but he was a decent guy. Strange that Waylon hadn’t fallen for him. At least he wasn’t a killer or a man with a deep, festering secret.

Or maybe that was the problem.

“S-Sorry...I-I don’t...usually c-cry. I just...got so mad.” He shamelessly reached out, tugged Miles shirt up a little and wiped his eyes dry with it. “I just...I just fucking knew it. The way he talked about Eddie. I think he knew. I think they really were involved with the old place Eddie had been. Remember we looked for other patients and found shit? Murkoff was...maybe still is doing something to them.”

He didn’t realize he still held Miles shirt in his hand and was tearing at the fabric now as his anger overcame him.

“I’m going to make those fuckers burn.”

“Easy on the goods, Waylon,” Miles gently detached his roommate’s hands before they tore holes into his filthy shirt. Just because they were living on the edge didn’t mean they’d have to start dressing like hobos, right?

“I’m with you man. Hundred percent behind you, or next to you, wherever you want me,” Miles sent him a suggestive wink, which was just an easy way to lighten the mood. The journalist got to his feet.

“Alright. I’m gonna go shower, and then we’re gonna call for pizza. I’m freaking starving.”

-x-

Waylon was grateful to Miles each day. Socially awkward and aggressive as Miles was, he knew how to soften up Waylon’s tantrums, however few they were. It helped him sleep enough so he could feel alert the next day as he went to visit Eddie.

As promised, he hadn’t tried messing with Murkoff’s files, or anything that would make them send Jeremy Blaire back his way.

Jeremy Blaire.

Waylon blocked him for now, looked at the clinic approaching, relaxed.

He was all nerves as he eagerly got off the bus and went in to reception, who knew him by first name by now.

The receptionist was a sweet young man by the name of Jake, who handled nearly all of Waylon’s numerous visits and seemed sympathetic to each of the patients. But today, Jake’s dark eyes didn’t light up with a smile when he saw Waylon come in.

He waved though, leaning forward on his desk,

“Good afternoon, Waylon. Was there something you forgot to check out? Or did you lose something?”

Waylon frowned, surprised by the lack of greeting.

“Oh, no,” he said, chuckling. “I’m here to see Eddie, like usual, you know. I think he should be in class about now, right? I mean, I could just go there, ah, but need the badge first, right?”

He started scribbling his name on the form as usual, expecting his badge that allowed him entrance.

“Uhm...” Jake nudged the form, gently prying it loose from Waylon’s grasp so the man would pay attention to him.

“What do you mean, here to see Eddie? Didn’t...didn’t they call you?”

Waylon’s blood drained.

He stared at Jake, waited, hoping that the surreal moment was proof he was in a dream and he’d wake up, and Jake would give him his form and he’d see Eddie.

He blinked and didn’t wake up.

“Where’s Eddie?” he whispered.

Jake looked devastated, clearly crushed that he would have to be the one to tell Waylon what happened. He had the courtesy to lower his voice, of course.

“He was transferred out last night. His psychiatrist decided that...oh, I really shouldn’t be telling you this, man, but I know you need to know...he’s gone to a new place...it’s kind of...an asylum for the...you know...criminally insane.”

Jake shuffled through some papers, letting Waylon see the transfer. That was most definitely illegal for him to do, but he liked Waylon, and he knew he meant the world to Eddie.

“That’s his own signature. It was a voluntary transfer.”

Waylon tore through the papers, trying to will the text to tell him something different. It didn’t matter what the form said. This wasn’t voluntary. They’d taken Eddie. The fuckers took him. And no one would care. 

“That...that’s not, but he…”

He was spitting words that made no sense to any but him. His hands were trembling, his palms clammy, his skin cold though he felt on fire. He must have been standing there too long because Jake touched his hand.

His gaze snapped up. He withdrew and tried not to lose himself in his thoughts.

He might have thanked Jake, or said nothing, but he was rushing out of the hospital, spilling into the open air. 

Where was Eddie?

If he felt small before, he felt microscopic now.

The breakdown should have come at him this time. It might have, if Waylon didn’t hold onto the terribly lonely thought that he was the only person in the world that gave a fuck about Eddie and his kidnapping.

What could he do? Why would they--

Miles.

The name flashed across his mind like a demonic hiss.

He called Miles up instantly. 

Miles answered his phone on the fourth ring, the sound of a noisy bar in one ear as he pressed the call to the other.

“Ya? Hey man, Wayls, what’s up?”

Noisy bar or not, no one could mistake the scream that blasted through.

“You fucker! What did you do! They took him! They took Eddie! Bullshit about volunteering--because you couldn’t keep your fucking lead to yourself! But, oh, that’s fucking fine, isn’t it, because Eddie is still locked up and you don’t fucking care so long as the world knows the truth, right?

“Well fuck you!”

He hadn’t allowed Miles a chance to say anything. He ended the call after a few more choice words, hailing a cab to rush him back to the apartment. He wasn’t going to cry. Not yet. He wasn’t going to let Eddie feel abandoned.


	13. Chapter 13

The whole building was kind of silent when Waylon returned to it, but there was life in it still. When the young man had settled back into his home, there was a knock at the door. Waiting in front of it, shifting very uncomfortably, was a large man. A very large man. Much broader than Eddie, even.

He spoke with a mannered, kept voice though.

 

“Uhm..hello. I’m Chris. You know, from downstairs? I was...wondering when you’d stop moving furniture up here, but I think it’s...uh..actually next door. Eddie’s gone away, right? You looking after his place? You might wanna check up on it.”

Waylon had torn the door open. If he were a strong man, one could think he could tear it off its hinges. At most, it made him look like a kid handling too much force that made him stagger a little.

He glared at Chris, then blinked rapidly. It wasn’t Blaire on the other side.

“Chris,” he repeated, remembering the nightly rumblings.

There was no time for greetings. He ducked around the massive form and fumbled opening Eddie’s apartment. Empty.

“No…”

He rushed through, finding nothing but things he didn’t want to find. Images of corpses. Fuckers knew. They knew all along, didn’t they?

The only room untouched was the workroom and that might have been a result of a padlock Waylon had situated on it, a strange whim to preserve what secret project Eddie had been working on. Murkoff could have taken it off. They probably left it as a way of mocking.

Waylon collapsed against the wall.

He couldn’t move. Not right now. He didn’t know how late it was. He’d left his apartment door ajar, but didn’t care.

He just stared at the empty living room, realizing Eddie might never come back to it.

 

It was well past midnight when Miles made it home, only to find his apartment devoid of a furious Waylon and instead, the door to their neighbour’s wide open.

Had Waylon flipped out so much that he’d thrown everything out? That seemed unlikely and frankly, impossible. Not even in a rage could the slender young man handle throwing out Gluskin’s heavy, old-fashioned furniture.

He found his roommate alright, collapsed against a wall, a pile of misery. Wow. Miles didn’t realize just how much he could feel like a dirtbag for doing what he knew was right.

Exposing Murkoff was worth any sacrifice, and deep inside, Miles knew Waylon could agree to that. But with his psycho killer on the line, Waylon tended to get irrational. Emotional. A little bit scary. Definitely crazy.

 

“...Waylon? Hey? You...ah...can you hear me?”

Miles toed inside of Gluskin’s apartment, surprised it could still bear so much of his personality despite having none of the furnishings left.

 

Waylon didn’t so much as shift an iota at hearing Miles, rage toward the journalist still a wound crying out for vengeance inside him. He stayed as he was, staring at nothing.

But damn the journalist for his nosiness. He came right on in.

“Get the fuck out of my sight,” he said.

 

“Yeah okay, I get it, you’re pissed,” Miles sighed, retreating to the door to close it. Eddie’s apartment wasn’t really the place he wanted to be, ever, but moving Waylon for a conversation was beyond him at the moment.

“You can yell all you want, Waylon, but it was the right thing to do. Murkoff would have squeezed you to shut your mouth, and just carried on with their sick shit.”

 

Waylon hated himself for the sickest reason. He wanted to not just yell, but lunge at Miles. He had the temptation for it, and no nerve for it. He was weak.

Yelling, he could still do.

 

“Fuck you!” There was a piece of debris beside him, the size and weight of a pebble. He chucked it at Miles, watching it bounce harmlessly of that broad chest. “I could have helped Eddie and taken care of them, but you had to go piss them off! They’re punishing me for what you did, and guess what, Miles? It ain’t gonna do shit. They have more lawyers and money to throw your fucking stunt under a carpet, so good fucking job.”

Another tiny piece of debris, also flung at Miles.

 

“I said get out of my sight!”

He’d never screamed so loud in his life. But he didn’t stop to wonder if any of the neighbors could finally hear how depraved their new tenant truly could be.

 

“For fuck’s sake Waylon!” Miles wasn’t exactly hurt by the tiny missiles launched at him, but the tone Waylon took with him suggested that he was in the wrong for having been righteous. That was the gratitude he was expecting from others, and maybe Waylon should just count into that. He couldn’t see beyond his own relationship with a psychotic killer.

But bringing up the greater good right now seemed rather futile.

“Fine. Stay here and throw a fit like a fucking baby! I thought you might want to go find your fucking boyfriend, but I see your tantrum is waaay more productive!”

 

Waylon scrambled after Miles, refusing to let him have the last word or think he was the better of the two of them. He’d been sitting so long the sudden lurch made him dizzy and he crashed into Miles, causing both of them to collide into a side wall.

It made for easy snatching of Miles’ shirt.

 

“Don’t talk to me like that, you asshole! This is your fault! You think I’m crazy? Look in the fucking mirror! You’re obsessed! Needing to just...fucking find the worst of everything and air it out. Maybe it’s because your own life is a fucking mess! You can’t get a steady guy, you can’t cook, you...you…and you...”

God, not now.

Waylon’s voice did that cracking thing.

 

“and you...are right,” his grip was no longer out of anger, and the shirt he’d been tugging became a comfort for his head to rest in, “and I hate that you’re right...hate it so much, that I’m the only one who wants to help him. I know he’s a killer, psychotic...you don’t know how many times I had wished I’d fallen for you instead…”

 

Miles let Waylon’s anger crash over him, knowing he kind of deserved to at least be there for the guy. He had kind of fucked him over. But then again, how much leeway did you give a man on the edge of sanity? The pressure, the feelings for Eddie, everything was toxic for Waylon’s stability. To be honest, Miles was worried for the guy.

He took the insults to the success of his own life with a thick skin. It was much easier to see why Waylon was breaking, and where the cracks ripped wide open.

 

“Yeah, you kind of fucked up there,” Miles’ voice was soft, “I don’t have corpses in my closet. But shit’s happened, the chips fell where they are. But fuck, Waylon, you have a choice to make. I know Gluskin’s important to you...but you can still pull out of this shit. Murkoff can go down, if you help me. Reveal all the shit you’ve got on them.”

_And abandon Eddie fucking Gluskin._

 

Waylon made good use of Miles’ shirt again, soaking his tears in it. He’d have to buy Miles a new shirt. New wardrobe. The guy looked like a hobo some days.

Miles was right. Murkoff had to burn. They’d already taken Eddie. They thought they were punishing Waylon, and in a sense they were, but unknowingly did they overlook the reaction it could cause. They saw Waylon as a nice IT guy with a penchant for curiosity, not unlike Miles.

They didn’t know how toxic he’d become, and intended to stay.

 

“O-Okay,” he whispered. “I’ll help you. You help me. Eddie’s getting out of there before they can hurt him much more. I’ll...keep working on their project. They won’t see the surprises I put in it.”

He glanced up, then wrapped his arms around Miles hard, embracing him, not caring how awkward it made Miles feel.

 

Awkward was the tip of the iceberg. Miles didn’t really do intimate, long hugs, no matter with whom. He just didn’t roll like that. But Waylon was kind of snotty and teary all because of something Miles had done and a guy needed a heart of stone to coldly shrug off that kind of hug.

“You big fucking baby. Let’s kick their asses, yeah?”

-x-

The search didn’t go as quickly as Waylon had hoped for, even with Miles now on board and making use of his connections.

 

Tracking Eddie down was a wild goose chase from one clinic to the next institute. The paper trail was clever, truly in Murkoff’s style. Miles could practically feel the corporation’s little devious minds laugh at his attempts.

It wasn’t even about finding Eddie Gluskin to the journalist, but the psychotic tailor would definitely make a perfect example and witness to Murkoff crimes. Plus, finding him would stop Waylon from having private breakdowns. He didn’t do it in front of Miles anymore, but that didn’t mean the journalist didn’t see the red rimmed eyes, the lack of sleep and pallor of Waylon’s skin and the quiet sobs at night. The guy was suffering, blaming himself for the torture his fantasies provided to Gluskin.

So it wasn’t exactly ideal when he did find what Waylon hoped for so desperately.

 

“Way? You up buddy?” Miles crept into Waylon’s room, noticing the string around his roommate’s neck. Was that Gluskin’s key? Shit, he was worse than a teen girl crushing for the first time.

 

Waylon survived life in bursts. The thinning thread linking one moment from the next was not for anyone’s viewing. He did cry, he did stare at nothing for a long time, he didn’t sleep. He stopped responding to messages from Lisa and family.

He couldn’t talk to them. Not yet. Life revolved around one goal. Save Eddie.

 

Miles came in during one of the ends of a burst. Waylon sat up in bed.

 

“Did you find something?”

 

“Yeah,” Miles was crouching by the bed, weary of how ragged Waylon looked. The man was going through hell and yeah, he kind of felt guilty for having part in it. But he was going to fix it.

 

“But you’re not gonna like it. They’re keeping Gluskin in a place called Mount Maxwell Asylum for the criminally insane. But get this, it’s, and I got this from a reliable source inside, it’s like a science division. And it’s airtight. No one gets in or out without extensive checks.”

 

Waylon expected it, and the blow to his psyche still hurt. He knew it. They’d been fucking around with live patients and were still doing it.

 

“Eddie.”

He got a good hang of not having panic attacks. Not when they had gotten so close.

 

“Then we need a reason to get in,” he said. “Something that will let me...peek into their system. I can’t shut it down, but…”

 

There was potential. Potential wasn’t enough. He looked back at Miles.

 

“Neither of us can directly get in. They probably have our faces plastered all over, right?”

 

Miles nodded, and he knew this was going to be a risky as fuck operation.

 

“We need someone who’s completely clean. No records, nothing. My inside guy, he can help, and he said...well...you’re gonna hate this. We either get someone completely uninvolved, or you. And I really, really don’t recommend it. But you’re probably gonna wanna do it, right? Stupid of me to ask.”

 

Miles sighed and sat his ass on the floor.

 

“So my guy, Vince, he’s gonna get this person in. That gives us two contact points. If...you wanna do something so stupid, you can...get in touch with Blaire. It’s your programming they’re using in that facility. You’re still valuable to them.”

 

Waylon grunted to himself, then muttered non intelligently. A habit he had done when deep in work. Now he was doing it plotting anything revolving around Eddie’s rescue.

 

“I don’t want to involve more than we have to. I’m almost done with the program. I’ll finish it today, have Blaire...Yeah, I’ll get in.”

 

That meant trusting Miles to still work to get him out. They were partners now, not just roommates.

 

He didn’t care what happened to him in there. He was terrified, sure, of what they could do, but it was a small thing to be scared in the wake of something so grand.

 

“Yes,” he said firmly, this time. “Get me in.”

 

“I was afraid you were gonna say that.” Miles sighed again. This was really fucking dangerous, there was no telling what Murkoff would do with Waylon in their actual clutches. He knew Vince could necessarily get Waylon out, either. Shit this was getting way into conman territory. When had his life started turning into a crappy, under-budgeted action flick?

 

“I’ll call Vince. Set it up. He’s got the other person ready too, since I kinda figured you’d be all up for it.”

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

It was done so much faster than any of them could mentally prepare for. The fourth in their little round was a very odd young psychologist by the name of Olivier Therion, and he would be the key in actually getting Eddie. Waylon was more or less the distraction. His arrival was to engage Blaire’s attentions, whilst the new, consulting psychologist met up with Vince inside the facility and try to retrieve Gluskin.

It sure as hell was a lot of risk for one serial killer.

“You know what you have to do?” Miles held Waylon back a moment longer. The drive here to Maxwell, or rather, to the town that it was in, had been silent and purposeful. Anxieties rising in both men. Miles would wait at a disclosed location, ready to take Eddie the hell out of dodge.

Waylon had breathed and breathed, and breathed some more. Nothing prepared you for this. This was a step off the precipice, a freefall into darkness where your sense of perception, blurred by said darkness, would warn you when to turn out of the way of a boulder’s edge catching you in the head.

“I know,” he said. “Keep the attention on me. “He’s eager to show me what my work has done. He doesn’t know I put a few viruses. Remember, it’ll go live in an hour. You can do what you want with the evidence it collects.”

He swallowed, licked his lips, swallowed again.

“Eddie...if he’s...hurt, you need to be careful. Talk to him about...about kids, about...me,” he winced, “if it’s bad, then...his bride. He’s into that. Just play on his terms…”

He gripped Miles’ arm hard. “Thanks. For being crazy with me.”

“Yeah, no shit this is crazy,” Miles grumbled, but he put a hand over Waylon’s, gave him a reassuring squeeze. He’d gotten into this hell with Waylon, now he was gonna try to make it out. Together. With a psycho killer. His life really was a B-movie.

“Don’t worry Way. You’ll get him back. And if he gets all crazy on me I’ll just...I don’t know, I’ll deal with him. Now watch your ass in there.”

“You watch yours,” Waylon said, finally separating himself from Miles.

It was a strange power and vulnerability in leaving Miles’ side. Despite their arguments, partners they had become and he’d relied on Miles presence as a way to ground himself. Now it was all him, and all Miles, but not together.

Getting in proved easy enough. It was as if Blaire had been waiting for him, ready and welcoming as a shark did its prey.

“Nice to see you again,” Waylon said, bitterly, wanting Blaire to know how furious he was, how he had something planned specially for this man. It would be testament to his ability to cruelty.

“What’s the point of me coming here?”

“Mr Park,” Blaire was in his element, in his kingdom, and Waylon had delivered himself to his hands. A perfect little present that Jeremy fully intended to make use of.

“Your talents have us all very excited for the project. Really, it would rude not to let you see the results. Come. walk with me.”

Blaire didn’t fill this walk with small-talk. They went through corridors lit by severe neon lights, nothing but steel doors in the entire facility. Much more like a prison than anything else. It got colder the further they went, down several flights of stairs, always followed by a slew of security guards clearly intended only for Blaire’s personal safety.

What they arrived in was nothing but a control room with a wall of monitors and a little herd of technicians shepherding and supervising everything.

Every screen showed a patient, and every patient looked...miserable. Some of them were attached to wires and tubes, others just contained, staring off into corners.

“As you can see, we’ve implemented your little gem already.”

Blaire stepped to the side, and of course, on the screen he revealed there was Eddie. He looked...not well. To put it mildly. Rashes were eating up the side of his face and he was suspended in some form of liquid, latex tubes filling his mouth and nose.

“It’s worked perfectly so far. Very nicely done.”

Waylon had been silent the entire time, glancing this way and that, flinching at what doors held behind them. Blaire had built another kingdom on the backs of victims and their misery. Any doubts to what Waylon had planned for him vanished.

When he saw Eddie, he cried out. At this time, he was set to start a riot, get Blaire’s full wrath on him. When he reacted, it wasn’t out of the plan, but pure, raw emotion to the scene before him.

He lunged forward and started typing wildly like a madman, only getting so far to turn off some of the machines before personnel was on him like antsy men looking for an excuse to exert violence. In retaliation, Waylon tore keyboards free and heaved them at their heads, hopping over the table, grabbing anything, a chair, a wire, and hurling it at Blaire over the heads of his goons.

“Fucking bastard! When he gets his hands on you--” he yelped and ducked out of the way, using a rolling chair as his defense. “You’re a fucking monster! Not any of these patients! You should be the one in there!”

At least Waylon’s little riot caused enough disturbance to have the entire surveillance crew distracted. All of them were trying to get the flailing software engineer under control, which of course, they eventually succeeded at. Blaire had his security guys drag Waylon away as the shocked crew reassembled their workstations.

But Waylon had timed everything well, because in the next moment, the lights went off and an alarm rang out across the facility, everything bathed in pulsing red. Waylon’s little viruses were doing hard work shutting down Blaire’s kingdom.

“You little slimy fuck!” Blaire grabbed ahold of Waylon himself, hands around his neck, fully intending to strangle Waylon if he didn’t comply.

“You better fix this right now or I will make you disappear, you hear me Park?!”

Waylon panted at the aftermath of his first fit, knowing he had plenty in store for more. The men that held him weren’t gentle, though probably not out of personal anger directed at him. So he hung in their arms, and gasped as Blaire grabbed his neck.

It hurt. Waylon smirked, then spat in Blaire’s face.

“Sounds like you need me more than I need you...not a good feeling, is it? Emasculated much in front of all these big guys. Tsk. The higher ups aren’t going to like you killing the only one who could fix this.”

“You little shit!” Blaire growled, grabbing Waylon by the hair and pulling him along, the security guards releasing him just so he could stumble after their pissed off boss. He dragged Waylon to the blank screen that used to show Eddie, grip so tight he probably could have ripped out all of Waylon’s hair and half of his scalp.

“Fix this right now, or your fucking psycho dies. He’s a failure anyway and hell, no one is gonna miss that sick fuck. I’ll do it. Believe me. If it’s not you, I’m gonna make everyone you care for suffer for every. Fucking. Second. Of. This.”

Waylon didn’t tolerate pain well, and panic raged through him at Blaire’s handling of him. He spoke with the genuine truth of a man void of a soul. Blaire didn’t have one, not a small one cowering in the corner. It was gone. He was ruthless, the kind of monster kids should be wary of, the ones that looked the best.

But Waylon put his faith in Miles.

“Then it’s me you want, isn’t it?” He said, breathing erratically. “I have no one left. Can’t you see how fucked up I am, how much I care for nothing? B-But...I’ll fix it. Problem though...the direct access is in my laptop, which is in the car…

W-Wait, though. You can come with me. I won’t run. I don’t like pain. I’ll fix it...and you can do what you want with me. Isn’t that what you really want?”

“How fucking stupid do you think I am, you sick little fuck?!” Blaire slammed Waylon’s head onto the table, not hard enough to knock him out, but hard enough to know that he wasn’t messing around. He was dead serious about it, and Waylon might end up dead if he didn’t get serious.

“You think I’m gonna walk anywhere out of this with you? Fucking bullshit. Where’s you damn car? I’ll have someone get your fucking laptop.”

Waylon cried out, then groaned as the pain proved more than he could handle. How people made it look effortlessly in the movie, he wished he knew because he was lightheaded and bleeding, struggling to blink through it.

He managed to look up at Blaire, hand up as if to defend himself.

“It’s outs...outside...parked. Red, um...T-Toyota.” He was still so scared and his tongue kept going. “C-Coward. Making others do your work...I heard you’d...you’d have someone skinned and raped if it m-meant you got your f-fucking pro-promotion.”

“Spitting some pretty big words for someone who’s looking never to turn thirty,” Blaire slammed Waylon’s head once more, just for good measure. It wouldn’t do to have him pass out, but it felt damn good to teach this little cocksucker a lesson. Don’t fuck with Jeremy Blaire, and don’t fuck with Murkoff.

The security guards had all but left the room in order to retrieve Waylon’s laptop, when suddenly the entire corridor was filled with some kind of smoke that had them all choking and gasping. Someone shouldered their way through, and the next instant, before he could even turn around, Blaire sunk to the floor and Miles let the fire extinguisher drop from his hands.

“Hold your breath!” he hissed through a rudimentary mask he’d thrown on as he half-carried, half pulled Waylon out of the room. By the time they clambered over the body guards, he’d shifted Waylon to koala cling to his back, and then Miles ran like hell.

Waylon hadn’t known what was going on, but began to think he might die. The irony didn’t leave him even in his half-muddled state, that he had promised Eddie to stay alive and that it might be he who died before he got to see the tailor again.

There was a warm back carrying him. Away.

Away?

He was so tired. He didn’t, couldn’t, say much. There was fresh air, the mask (when had it been put on him) gone.

“Blaire,” he managed to say, and he figured he must have said it enough times because someone (not Miles, the guy was still there, maybe one of the inside guys?) came back quickly, Blaire’s body over his shoulder.

There was the sound of car doors closing, the feel of cushion, the world rolling by in blurs.

Waylon closed his eyes, thinking Eddie would like a home in the suburbs.


	15. Chapter 15

Miles was still not down from his high. The adrenaline just kept pumping him on, and to be honest, he was on the edge of hysteria or euphoria. So, it was no big deal, right, they’d simply kidnapped Jeremy Blaire, basically launched a guerilla attack on a Murkoff facility, and broke what was essentially an inmate out of an asylum for the criminally insane. No big deal at all.

They weren’t back at the apartment, but at some rather large and spacious lakehouse. It was remote and it belonged to a friend of a friend who was overseas. No one would disturb them here, whatever they decided to do.

Right now, it was an anxious wait for Waylon to wake up. Blaire was tied up in the basement, Gluskin locked in one of the guest bedrooms. Olivier and Vince were here too, but much, much more relaxed than Miles could ever hope to be.

Waylon woke slowly, stepping gradually from dreams he couldn’t remember. He blinked at an unfamiliar ceiling, aches coming back with consciousness. He wished he could sleep forever right now.

It rushed over him like a new headache.

He groaned and sat up carefully.

“M...Miles?” he called, blinking, trying to get his vision back under his control.

“Sup bud? How’s your head? Here, you’re gonna want this,” Miles sat down on the couch next to Waylon, a glass of water and a little pill in hand. Just some painkillers to make sure their ‘brains’ would be operational for the next moves.

What were they, some kind of operation now? Sure as hell didn’t feel as cool as in the movies.

“We fucking did it, Waylon. We did it.”

Waylon took the pill without question, hands shaking. He felt hungover without the alcohol and without the good times from last night.

“We...did? But…” He inhaled sharply and shot off the bed, fell to his knees and cursed loudly at the pain, “Eddie!”

“Shit man! You made me jump!” Miles picked his roommate up off of the floor, helping him stand. Waylon was still a little wobbly, but there was new life burning in him. Miles wasn’t gonna blame the guy, not after the past weeks of misery.

“Easy there small-fry. He’s here. He’s...well..we don’t really know if he’s okay. Doc says he needs time and rest.”

“My name’s not doc.” the rather tall, dark haired man with the strange accent called from the back. He would look more at home at a wine-tasting than a mental institute, really.

“It’s Olivier. And Edward Gluskin is just about as far from alright as anyone I’ve seen.”

Miles hissed at the doctor stop talking, but Olivier didn’t take the hint.

“He can’t speak. Swelling’s too bad. Did you know he has a latex allergy? Murkoff has really gone beyond all things humane, even in the details.”

Waylon cried out again, pathetically, at the still present fury and distress of the news. Shaking Miles off and catapulted, staggered really against walls, through the unfamiliar home, crashing into the only one that was locked.

He scrambled with the door, then cursed. Locked.

“Eddie!” He slammed his fists on the door. “Eddie, it’s me! Eddie! Someone open the fucking door now!”

“Jesus Christ calm the fuck DOWN!” Miles grabbed Waylon, holding him still so someone could get the key for the door. Miles kind of wanted to slap his roommate.

“You’re hysterical. Look you can’t get him all riled up and shit, okay? We don’t know what’s wrong with him yet,” he paused and added to his statement, “more wrong than before. So calm, Waylon. Breathe. He might not be the same Gluskin you know.”

Waylon tensed at Mile’s shouting, the sound aggravating his throbbing head.

Being grabbed so hard though did indeed force him to take deep breaths, take something out of Miles’ logic. He didn’t quite relax, but he wasn’t trying to break free and break down the door. The sudden adrenaline exhausted him.

Hanging in Miles grip, he nodded carefully.

“...S-Sorry. I...you know. But he’s in there. The real Eddie. He’s in there somewhere. Please...can I see him now?”

“Yeah, sure,” Miles decided that for once, he wasn’t going to let his dislike towards Gluskin rule over Waylon’s wishes. Olivier unlocked the door, and Miles let Waylon go.

Eddie was indeed in the room, and he still looked terrible. Clearly, he’d been put in bed to rest when they arrived, but since then, he’d retreated to the furthest corner of the room, crouched and balled up, almost unnoticeable which was a ridiculous notion for such a big guy.

He flinched when the door opened, and he didn’t look up, buried his head against his knees.

Waylon’s heart crumbled. He had hoped the next time he saw Eddie it would be fluttering, like they were going on a first date again, not picking up pieces of the other, trying to salvage who Eddie was.

Murkoff was going to burn deeper than hell did.

Waylon approached slowly, then sat a few feet away.

“Eddie,” he whispered. “I’m...It’s me, Eddie. I came for you. Those men took you from me, tried to hide you...but I’m here. It’s Waylon...your...it’s me, darling.”

Waylon’s soft efforts were rewarded when Eddie lifted his head. The right side of his face was covered in a bloody mess, scabs and broken skin, which went all the way to his eye. Whether or not he could see couldn’t be determined, but the bloodshot look it gave to his face was enough to make Miles kind of sick from where he was watching. If Gluskin had been handsome before, he now looked the psycho part.

“Darling...” Eddie had trouble speaking, definitely, an odd lisp to his voice from where the swelling dominated his throat. But amidst all the chaos and destruction on his body and face, he coaxed his aching face into a smile.

“Darling,” he repeated, and the smile faded, wet shimmered on the striking blue of his bloodshot eyes.

Waylon didn’t break this time. He couldn’t. Eddie’s pain obscured anything he endured. So, carefully, he reached out, offered his hand, scooted closer.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

He couldn’t wait. He closed the gap, slowly all the while and let his fingers slide over the less marred part of Eddie’s face.

“Oh, Eddie...they fucked us up so badly. I took care of them. The man who did this to you, to us...he can’t do it again. Never again. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Eddie watched him in silence. Speaking was so painful, and it didn’t seem to matter if he could or did. Waylon was here. Waylon...Waylon, his Waylon.

Even through everything that Murkoff did to him, tried on him, Eddie remembered his feelings for this man. He didn’t have to shuffle himself much to do it, and he breathed out deeply as he leaned his head into Waylon’s arms. 

“Darling,” it really sounded painful even as he tried to speak softly, “don’t leave me...again. I...darling, we’ll be beautiful.”

Waylon accepted Eddie’s body against his, providing a nest of safekeeping for the large man. With the wall helping him burden Eddie’s weight, he stroked along Eddie’s skin where he could and threaded fingers through still soft hair.

“You were doing so well,” he said over Eddie’s head. “I looked so hard for you, Eddie. They hurt you when you were doing so well…”

They had taken a step forward and had been dragged back a mile.

“I won’t leave,” he promised. “You’re very hurt and I won’t leave.”’

Now wasn’t the type to relay his fears though, unrelenting badgering in him that told him Eddie was still dangerous, more so than ever before.

“Try to rest...to sleep. I got you…”

-x-

Waylon hardly remembered dozing off. When he awoke, his spine throbbed and he couldn’t feel his legs. No surprise given the bulk of man on his legs, tucked in his arms like a child. A child with a proclivity for barbarity.

He smiled down faintly, probably looking like the madman he was for coddling a beast, no better than an enthusiast playing with a panther.

No one could stop him though. That doctor came in once, asked about the man in the basement. A new slew of memories returned, layering thinly over all those about Eddie. Waylon didn’t want to see Blaire, nor had to.

He took the doc’s phone and dialed a number, which was picked up on a landline versus a cell phone. He asked for their current location, gave it to the person on the other side, then hung up.

“They’ll handle Blaire,” was all he offered as explanation, returning to his tending of Eddie.

While he demanded, in a quiet voice so as not to disturb Eddie, for things to treat the rash and injuries, someone maneuvered a clunky van that had seen a lot of things through city after city.

The driver arrived punctually, not that anyone was really noticing. He stepped out and came right into the lakehouse, startling some poor guy who wasn’t as good of a doctor as he was.

“I’m the guy that was called,” he said in explanation, waving off another guy who was bigger and looked like he was on a rush of adrenaline, for days. “Pest control, you could say.”

He chuckled at his own joke, already knowing where to go with little guidance. The basement groaned as he descended down the steps, already picking up the screams of a muffled man.

“Oh, lookie here, got an excited one, huh?” he called back to whoever was following. “Makes for good business. Ah, but you don’t know. I’m just rambling, aren’t I? Sounds like he’s got a lot of rambling to do, doesn’t he?”

He laughed quietly, coming in with the eyes of an appraiser. Blaire was a cocktail of every negative emotion. The man looked hideous being overwhelmed by them all, as if his body could only contain so much, and was too arrogant to admit to that.

“Yep. Good one. Just as promised. Let me see,” the man said, coming around, adjusting his spectacles. “Ah, nice fingers.” He inspected the digits protruding from their bonds. “Smooth. Not one to work with your hands much, are you, buddy? Heh. Works to my favor. Alright!”

He clasped his hands and looked back at Miles and the doc.

“Welp, better get to it. Rolling stone doesn’t gather any algae.”

In a paroxysm of violence, he used his bare fists to beat the consciousness out of Blaire. Then, he wiped his hands, and hauled the bound man over his shoulder.

“Jeez. Heavier than you look,” he said, managing up the stairs. “Some cardio wouldn’t hurt you.”

He smiled to Miles and the doc in thanks, then waved at them with one hand. 

“See ya around, folks. Oh, nice meeting you, Miles. Never did have a proper neighborly greeting, huh? Ah, no worries. We like to keep to ourselves. It’s cool. Alright, come on, buddy,” he patted Blaire’s unresponsive bump. “Time to go.”

Finally he waddled out, dumping the body in his van, smiling at it with the promise of many activities to come.

“Richard Trager’s gonna take good care of ya.”


	16. Chapter 16

Miles had been less than happy about what Waylon decided to do with Blaire. If they just murdered him, what would make them any better than Murkoff? That’s not why they got into this, well, certainly not why he had tried his best to help Waylon with everything.

But right now, he was absolutely not sure if helping Waylon was all that healthy. Not just for himself, but for the former software technician turned leader of this little operation.

Waylon hadn’t left Eddie’s room once since he woke up. He ate and slept in there, spending every waking minute tending to the tailor. He wouldn’t let Olivier be in the room alone with either, as if any medical staff now held negative connotations and no one’s peaceful attentions could be trusted.

It wasn’t entirely out of fear for Eddie’s safety. The man had changed, definitely for the worse. No matter which subject was brought up to him, whether it be past or present or anything at all, he was always kind of out of it. Never really all there. Eddie was living in a new world and Waylon was lucky he still had a window into it, because everything else was sealed shut. No one but Waylon could talk to Eddie successfully, and even then, conversation was limited. Eddie didn’t really ever call him by name either, simply replacing it with ‘darling’, a word Miles was rapidly getting sick of hearing, because it sounded creepy and twisted as hell when Gluskin used it.

Five whole days had gone by, and the only real improvement was the reduced swelling in Gluskin’s throat. Not that he began speaking, of course. He had to be too obstinate for that.

Miles tried to keep himself away from Gluskin as best he could. He was busy leaking what the viruses salvaged from the Murkoff facility onto the internet, where it was already stirring up a shitstorm.

Waylon didn’t feel a change in himself as he descended into further madness, where his fixation with Eddie became like the world’s gravitation around the sun. Without it, it would wither away, fast.

He did nothing without Eddie, and that included bathroom business. He even bathed Eddie by himself, not trusting anyone else to do it properly without harming his skin, which healed over the few days, but still needed tending.

They hung in limbo together, forgetting the world. It was dangerous, forgetting to call the police, to finish the exposure of Murkoff, to show them Eddie, to get him proper help.

Waylon believed the longer they stayed in bed, the more would come back to Eddie.

This morning he shifted, yawning quietly. He smiled at Eddie, who looked to be awake already.

“Hey,” he said, kissing a patch of unharmed forehead. “You’ve been healing nicely...you think you can tell me what you’re thinking, how you’re feeling today?”

Eddie had been awake for a long while, and he spent that time watching Waylon sleep. He looked like he needed it, the poor fool. The tailor couldn’t bring himself to touch him. He didn’t remember so much about his life before, but Waylon was a shining feature, someone to be revered, and someone Eddie could no longer touch with the filth he was bathed in.

“You would look marvelous in a dress, darling,” he still didn’t use Waylon’s name, another thing he was too defiled to be allowed near, “you have amazing bone structure.”

Waylon cracked a smile, his heart feeling as if it’d been put wringers, stomped, torn out, replanted, and missing pieces. Each day he hoped Eddie would speak, and each day he hoped Eddie would magically come back to himself.

He wouldn’t. Not without real help.

Waylon didn’t want to leave the lake house though.

“That’s what you’re thinking about?” he chuckled for Eddie’s benefit, taking one of those large hands and bringing it to his face. He noticed Eddie’s lack of physical affection and the way he looked at Waylon as though he were a god(dess) to be worshipped, but not touched.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You can touch me. You...went through a lot. But I’m still here, aren’t I? I’ll help you, Eddie...somehow.”

But he wasn’t make that first move, going to the police, showing them Eddie, putting him in a hospital that could help him.

No. Waylon trusted no one.

“Help? Oh, no, I don’t need help. I’m quite good at sewing you know,” Eddie left his hand under Waylon’s control, but took no initiation to actually touch him. 

“You’ll be my bride, won’t you darling? It will be marvelous. Beautiful.”

Eddie was in a world that didn’t remember Murkoff, or Blaire.

Waylon had no vigor in him to pry Eddie to the real world. Lying down, he recognized how fatigued he was, how much effort it took to even talk. They should lie there forever. So what if they didn’t return to life, pursue their future?

Their future.

Waylon should remember something about their future, a promise they made.

The memory, or whatever it was, flickered, then was lost in the weight of everything else that was keeping Eddie Gluskin in his arms, alive. Nevermind that he was spiraling out of his own mind, forcing their future to a stop because of his own instability.

“Whatever you want,” he told Eddie, because it was easier, because he was starved for Eddie’s little smile. “We’re together now. That’s all that mattered.”

It wasn’t, but he was starting to believe it.

“Darling...I don’t like this. You...you’re looking at me...like that,” Eddie twisted out of Waylon’s grasp, and then he grabbed Waylon by the neck.

“Don’t look at me like that! Like I’m broken! I’m not broken! I’m not wrong! You don’t need to fix me!”

Pure anger was dominating his gaze, and it should at least be clear to Waylon that he was not whom Eddie was angry at.

“I’m not broken daddy! You don’t need to fix me anymore!”

Waylon had known this new Eddie was less the Eddie he knew and more the monstrosity that hung up corpses. His hope had allowed him to believe it didn’t matter and now he was staring up at Eddie, gasping for breath and clinging to large arms.

“E...Edd...It’s me…!”

He coughed, winced, forced his voice through. “You da..dad isn’t here! He can’t hurt you! It’s me...Waylon…”

Eddie loosened his grip enough to allow Waylon breath, though the way he held on still suggested he would prefer to strangle Waylon than allow him to talk. Eddie’s eyes were wide and clung to him, desperate and afraid.

“Waylon...no, Waylon, you can’t be here...darling, darling you have to run! He can’t know. If he knows I...with a boy...no no nonono.”

Waylon shook his head as much as he could, reached and touched as much of Eddie’s face as he could.

“It’s okay, it’s okay...he can’t hurt...you, not anymore…”

His breathing was ragged still, and he hoped no one had heard the outburst and would come when Eddie was in this state.

Of course someone heard the commotion. Of course, that someone was Miles, who came bursting into the room he usually avoided.

“Waylon! Are you alri- Jesus, fuck, get off of him!”

The zealous journalist was full of protective energy and tried to drag Eddie away from his friend.

“No! No you can’t have him!” Eddie struck Miles down, and he did get off of Waylon in order to attack Miles, who, although quick on his feet, couldn’t avoid the hard punches Eddie threw.

Waylon screamed, voice raw, and launched after them. He shoved himself between the two, latched his arms around Eddie and held him tightly, knowing he couldn’t force Eddie to stop with what pitiful strength he had alone.

“No, it’s okay, Eddie! He’s a friend! I’m here. I’m not taken. I’m here, Eddie! Please...look at me, Eddie!”

Waylon’s voice and presence definitely saved Miles from broken bones as Eddie kind of stopped dead, before wrapping his arms around Waylon and giving a dry, choked sob. 

“Won’t...won’t let them take you...not you...”

Miles had the presence of mind to scramble away as far as the door, holding his aching jaw and bleeding nose. He didn’t say anything, didn’t want to aggravate the psycho any more, but he indicated to Waylon that they would absolutely have a serious talk about this.

“Darling, nothing will come between us. I’ll...I’ll kill them, I’ll kill them all.”

Waylon trembled. He’d been fine in his fantasy world, in his utopia with Eddie on the bed until his lover’s trauma backfired on them. Now Miles was back, interrupting the peace in another way. Waylon swallowed, breathed in deeply Eddie’s scent.

“Come to bed,” he said gently. “Sleep beside me? I can’t sleep well if you don’t sleep beside me.”

He wasn’t tired, but restless. Still, his darling’s needs were before his own, so Eddie settled them on the bed. This time, he wrapped himself as close as he could to Waylon, nuzzling into his neck with his arm draped protectively over the slim young man. He wasn’t going to let go, and even if he didn’t sleep, he would watch over Waylon every second he could.

“We’ll be so happy darling...you and me, only you and me.”

Eventually, Eddie did fall asleep, but his grip on Waylon hardly slackened at all.


	17. Chapter 17

Miles waited for Waylon, impatiently, but weary of the monstrous man his friend called lover.

Waylon had watched Eddie as he dozed off, wishing this moment of harmlessness was a permanent fixture in his life with Eddie. When had he last felt a moment’s peace that wasn’t fabricated from a fantasy?

He had tried to squirm free when Eddie fell asleep, and fell.

Thus, resulting in hissing for Miles, then offering a weak shrug in explanation for why he couldn’t come out to meet his roommate in person.

Miles rolled his eyes, but kept quiet, not wishing to wake the sleeping beast in the room. He indicated for Waylon to wiggle himself a little loose, then he quickly stuffed a pillow into the open space, eventually extracting his roommate and replacing him entirely. He ushered him out of the room without allowing him the luxury to get soppy about the way Eddie clung to the pillow he believed to be Waylon.

Miles shut the door softly, turning the key in the lock. He didn’t talk until he and Waylon reached the kitchen.

“I’m not gonna yell, and I’m not gonna scream. But please dear GOD, tell me you see why he needs to be locked away?!”

He got himself a red bull, tapping anxiously on the countertop.

“You know you can’t deal with his crazy, right? He needs professional help. Obviously nothing as fucked as Murkoff, but something like the clinic he was in. You said he was getting better? Well it’s safe to say this is worse. Does he even...Waylon, we have to get him out of here. He needs to be somewhere he can’t hurt people. How long do you think before he’ll turn on you too? What if he fucking strangles you? Accident or not, I won’t let that fucking psycho hurt you.”

Separated from Eddie impacted Waylon with a loss so grand it felt physical. He walked funny, as if part of his brain had crossed (been dragged?) the threshold where Eddie’s fantasy world existed. His eyes moved with the consistency of someone on a high, paranoid of what secrets waited to hurt Eddie within these walls.

He began knocking on them to ensure their solidity.

“What?” He glanced back at Miles, remembered they were talking. “O-Oh...I...No, he’s...I can help. I’m sure I can. He just…”

Miles was glowering at him like a supernatural entity had temporary granted him its powers of intimidation. Flinching, Waylon resumed tapping on walls.

“...I’m scared they’ll take him away again.” He pekeed back at his roommate. The blood startled him at that moment.

Gathering, shakily, a wet towel, he dabbed at Miles’ injuries.

Miles was proving more vital than he knew. He existed as the sole thread keeping Waylon from falling into the world of dresses and darlings. And if he fell, Eddie wouldn’t come back. Ever.

Waylon studied his friend’s face. Miles was not just his roommate. Partner. Not even friend. Something more, something without a label.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You went...through hell for me. You could have left me there. And now you’re saying that.” He couldn’t repeat it. He didn’t want to believe Eddie could turn on him. “Y-Yeah...you’re...right. As usual. We have to...um…”

Do what? He had to contemplate and dig through the fantasies.

“The police. Then have Eddie put in the proper clinic,” he said, pausing to tap on the table, suspicious of it. He glanced up at Miles. “What? You look at me like I’m the one who needs to see a therapist.”

“I think it wouldn’t be a terrible idea. You’re in love with a psychotic murderer. A little head-shrinking would do you a world of good. Plus, you kind of look like shit.”

Miles waved the care and attention away. His face might have been a little roughed up but not enough to let Waylon fuss over him. It wasn’t like his nose was broken, just bleeding a little. That damn psycho hit pretty damn hard. Miles watched his roommate, tried to see how much sanity Waylon had left in him, and how much he’d lost in that room.

“Look,” why did he have to be voice of reason over and over again? “I’m gonna call someone in. They’ll come here. We need Gluskin to testify to everything we’re accusing Murkoff with, otherwise, we’re fucked. They’re gonna want to do a psychological evaluation. Do you honestly think we can pass him off for sane long enough for them to accept his testimony? Because if they don’t, we’re rather fucked.”

Waylon didn’t chase Miles’ face for further tending, in part because of his fatigue and in part to spare Miles his ego. It was the only accessory the journalist really seemed to have, and that was saying something given how little journalists were born with as it was.

Meanwhile he replayed Eddie’s outburst in his mind.

“No,” he said, “he’s...in his own world, and I don’t know the right ways to get him out of it.”

Eddie was a severe case now. He might even need to be sedated to keep him calm, and Waylon knew he lacked the specialty to do anything that extreme. In that moment he realized he was no better than Eddie in his fantasies, opting to forget the world and the help it could give Eddie if it meant satisfying Waylon’s need to keep a personal eye on him. 

“But...maybe that’s enough. Video tape what he’s like now, show them. Then, after he gets help, he can testify but...that’s gonna take more than just a few months.”

“Videotape him? Not too bad an idea...but we’ll have to get him during one of his...moments. Otherwise he’s kind of not spectacular. Just creepy with his ‘darling’ and dresses and shit.”

Miles’ ego had taken a bump alright, one at Eddie’s fists and that was something unlikely to be forgiven any time soon.

“We’ll have to trigger him. Get a good video of it...and the stuff from the Murkoff archives. Have you looked at it at all?”

Waylon shook his head. Eddie’s plight had overpowered everything, including the drive to watch Murkoff burn down into the hell it had created. He’d forgotten about Blaire, the virus, all of it. 

That couldn’t be good testimony to his sanity.

“Y-Yeah...we’ll...have to do that. We need to be ready for it. I’ll do it. If he gets his hands on you, he won’t hesitate to kill you. With me, there’s a chance, or at least enough for you to--that doctor. He’s got to have sedatives, right?”

He hated doing this to Eddie, but he coaxed himself back to the mindset that it would ultimately result in Eddie’s wellbeing. Well, as well as he could become from this.

“Yeah, he probably does. He’s pretty well-equipped. I think. Weird guy but Vince trusts him,” Miles shrugged. Gluskin’s personal hell was of little interest to him, as long as Waylon was okay.

“And once that’s done and he’s in safe hands, you are gonna get some fucking help too. I swear, I’ll drag you to a psychiatrist myself.”

“One issue at a time,” Waylon said, having no intention of seeing a shrink himself.

He didn’t need it. Sure, he had developed into a zealous criminal, but for the sake of a greater good, right? Not just for Eddie but for all abused-turned-abusers that were easier to punish than think they were worth rehabilitation, that prevention was indeed a key to ending so much violence.

He rubbed his brow and decided he could tolerate Miles’ stubbornness later. For now, the guy was helping him more out than he had to. For that, Waylon was able to recognize through the fog of his instability. He didn’t have the strength to squeeze Miles’ shoulder, but he could apply some pressure.

“Let’s get to it.”

Later, he’d properly thank Miles.

-x-

It was a fright for everyone, anticipation high or not, when Eddie flipped from coddling Waylon, to smashing him against a wall, spouting accusations regarding the filthy nature of his ties with Miles. The grip had Waylon choking again, but Eddie didn’t deliver a killing blow, instead seeming to understand how naive Waylon (his ‘darling’) was, and that it was in fact Miles leading him astray.

Lucky for Miles (using the term lightly there) did not feel Eddie’s wrath. An intervention, a lot of struggling, and the psychotic tirade crashed down along with Eddie’s sedated (heavily) body.

It made for juicy videotaping. Waylon refused to see it at first, but Miles kept fucking pushing, demanding him to see what others saw, because being in the moment didn’t equate to seeing everything.

It hurt him to see the clip.

He wouldn’t cry though, wouldn’t protest that that wasn’t Eddie. It was, if only a piece of him.

That didn’t stop his advocating for Eddie. It proved difficult, having to address the police (who agreed to come to them) when Eddie was asleep. Doing it while he was awake meant trouble, particularly when it meant answering questions about something Eddie didn’t believe happened.

Maybe it was his own tenacity that convinced them, or seeing how Eddie curled around him as he slept, or what they read and saw from the Murkoff archives, but they agreed Eddie was a poor fucking soul. It was better than calling him criminally insane, Waylon figured.

Waylon didn’t want to know how everything was set up, what calls were made, none of it. All he knew what Miles informed him of, that Eddie would be put into a hospital.

Thus, days later, Waylon watching as Eddie hum that song he was fond of. He’d recently woken up, Waylon having already showered and shaved; he did not shave with Eddie present, more out of fear for what he’d use the razor for. Eddie got antsier each passing day, prone to more suspicions, and it was herculean effort for Waylon to dodge around them until he’d soothed Eddie back down into docile territory. 

“Eddie,” he said, resting a hand over a large one. The rashes were healing still, skin crusted and dented where scars would form. “Look at me, a moment, yeah? I got big news. It’s time to leave this place. We’re going to a new place, a place that’s a step before we get to our home. It sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

Even with the police, Waylon didn’t feel much different on the matter of Eddie. Somehow he knew they were talking about him, as if they were tempted to put him in a hospital too against his will. Maybe they would have, but once he’d heard Miles arguing with them, and they never bothered mentioning it to him.

His heart skipped a beat all the same, knowing he would be parted from Eddie. Would they let him visit daily? He had told Miles he had to, even if for only a moment.

“A new place? I quite like this house...” Eddie seemed a new man every time he woke up. Waylon could never gauge if he was going to be wrathful or affectionate. Both weren’t mutually exclusive anyway. Eddie was hard to predict and difficult to contain, so for his journey, he would be sedated again. This was supposed to be the part where Waylon would gently suggest to Eddie what was to happen regardless of his response.

“Darling, I don’t want to go.”

“Don’t worry,” Waylon said, sitting closer, incredibly aware that they were being monitored.

Miles’ idea had prompted constant recording of the room with hidden cameras. Waylon tried to ignore their existence, and found it easy the longer he stared at Eddie.

“You,” he paused, thinking that isolating Eddie, even in speech, was a bad move. “We’re both...sick. You don’t know it. But we are. We’re going to a place that will make sure all is okay, and then, we’ll go to a home. A big home. This one is...a bit small.”

It no longer disturbed Waylon he played the role of a wife-to-be so smoothly. 

“I was hoping...you’d want a lot of children, not just a few. We’d need bigger space.”

“You’re sick?” Eddie seemed to ignore everything Waylon said after those words, even if the talk of children usually captured his attention rather immediately. Not this time though. Eddie glanced around, as if he knew, or could sense, at least, that they were not entirely alone in this room. Someone was always watching.

“Darling, what’s wrong with you? You look perfect...but I might be blinded by love.”

Waylon forced himself to chuckle, then shook his head.

“No, I might have said that wrong. It’s to make sure we’re okay. To…”

He stumbled over his own words, unsure if he had the nerve to say it aloud, especially with others listening. Memories of how Eddie nuzzled his stomach, rested his hand on his navel, spoke of their family to come.

“To make sure,” he continued, “that we’re both...set to have children. If there’s anything wrong, they’ll help and make it so it’s okay.” He dared to draw Eddie’s hand to his navel. “It’s good to take precautions with such things, okay?”

“Of course,” Eddie nodded eagerly, his hand tender on Waylon’s stomach as he put his head in the man’s lap.

“Anything for our family...I’ll never let anyone harm our children, or you, darling. Never.”

Waylon was supposed to be saying his goodbyes. Olivier stood by, sedatives ready and outside, the hospital’s private ambulance awaited its patient.

Waylon smiled at that, knowing it was true, as true as it was that Eddie would strangle him for so much as looking at another man.

“Then be good, for me.” He cupped Eddie’s face, kissed his cheek, and stood up, battling against the urge to stay in Eddie’s arms, perilous as that place was. “And I’ll be good for you. I’ll see you soon...darling.”

He peeled away, heart hammering in his chest, and slipped out, refusing to watch or listen when Eddie had to be sedated like the wild animal they saw him as. He took refuge outside the house, covering his head, eyes pinched shut, trusting Miles would find him when it was done with.

Miles did, once Eddie was safely in the ambulance and also sedated like a bear or something; Probably took the same dose too.

“You alright? It’s all done now.”

Of course it would be different this time. Eddie wasn’t voluntarily admitted, and he was violent. That would restrict Waylon’s access somewhat. And that was a good thing, if anyone ever asked Miles. They needed to be apart, and Waylon needed to get his head together.

It was done, and Waylon never felt sicker.


	18. Chapter 18

Waylon knew he had a good life growing up. Social awkwardness aside, he never felt the obligation to engage with others if he lacked the interest. His family had money, enough to live comfortably, and they owned their own home.

It was a thin line to consider that life and the one he had now, feeling an internal clawing at uneven walls of the pit he’d let himself dive into. Some days he scrambled higher up, only to slip and crash back down, while other days he clung to the side and didn’t move for days.

He knew how sick he truly was when he hit the low point.

He’d been moved to a new apartment with Miles, for their safety. Nice, spacious, temporary. Didn’t matter much though, because Waylon held himself in his room like a man with a heart broken and in need of serious repair. But heartsmiths weren’t easy to find, if they existed at all.

The low struck when he’d been told not only could he not see Eddie, but for a full month he was restricted from nearing the hospital Eddie had been placed in. That, and the advisements to seek his own help had infuriated him to the point that Miles had to physically drag him out of the sight of the officers.

That night, he’d stared at himself in the mirror, wondering if Eddie would prefer if he let his hair grow out a little, or if he could really bear him a child. The thoughts, unstable and harmful, had come effortlessly into his mind. The most sensible one, to him, was that he should shave, keep himself smooth for Eddie’s return.

He’d stared a long time at the razor, pressed too hard against jaw, felt and saw blood staining everything, and only thinking that Eddie wouldn’t like the mess. 

Who knew the descent to madness was so easy?

Waylon didn’t remember when it started. It could have been when he first met Eddie, or he first heard Miles’ warning. Regardless, it hadn’t been a slippery slope, but an easy walk to the state he found himself in now. To others, they might have pinpointed landmarks on the road to his craziness, but not to him.

Miles had found him, damn the wonderful journalist. Waylon remembered apologizing in a rasp for the mess, then tucking into Miles’ arms.

Now, watching a nurse switch his I.V. bag, he should have expected it all.

Two weeks he’d been here, first under suicide watch, which he protested was nonsense because he would never do that to Eddie. Still, they didn’t need a lot to keep him, and Miles seemed...relieved not having to take the burden of looking after him.

Miles.

Waylon inhaled deeply, pleased the fresh air reached him. Beside him, on a seat, Miles bitched about a game on the television this room provided. After the whole cutting misunderstanding, Waylon had tried to leave, almost did, until he saw Miles’ face, swore he heard his voice break somewhere.

Well, nevermind what really made him agree to Miles’ correct logic (again). He was underfed, exhausted, and needed a lot of mental patch up. Miles came every day for as long as he could, save for when Waylon reluctantly dragged himself to rooms for...therapy sessions, some private, some in groups.

In private, he told Eddie’s story, unaware he was providing his own tools to heal himself in the process. He’d just wanted this shrink to know about Eddie, to pass along to others that, sure, not all people became abusers, but that all abusers had their beginnings rooted in abuse themselves.

So it went. Talking, talking, more talking, some arguing about Eddie, then more talking, then calming down, then epiphany.

Waylon was no good to Eddie as he was, just as Eddie was no good to him.

Through it all, however, he’d unearthed the gem of it all. His affection for Eddie was still throbbing with life, if frail. He’d never admit it, but part of him had argued with Miles, thoroughly, about seeing help because he was terrified to think deep down, he’d never really loved Eddie, but the idea of saving him. That was a truth he hadn’t wanted to confront.

He didn’t think he could feel better when he’d learned that pulse in him kept beating for Eddie, and that Waylon could give himself a break for it. His obsession had made him dependent, unhinged, and dangerous in another way than Eddie.

No good deed went unpunished, he supposed.

“I’m hungry,” he said, waiting until Miles stopped cursing and handed him a pudding. “I don’t want that. I want Jell-O.”

Miles humored him. Waylon smiled, fingers curling around Miles’ wrist.

It warranted him the journalist’s attention.

“I know you think I’m a big baby, but I fucking love you, you know.”

He did. Miles had done more for him than he owed, and Waylon remembered it during his time in his own little hospital, recovering, contemplating, forgiving, letting go.

Lisa had always been his best friend, in an awkward sense of the term where she undertook an additional task of seducing him. Miles though had earned himself an honorary title Waylon had yet to conceive of, only knew it imprinted the journalist into his heart.

He knew now he’d be okay. Weaknesses and all, Waylon knew he was ready to see Eddie again, to...find out how their damaged selves could reunite under the supervision of others.

“I mean it,” he said, gripping Miles harder with renewed fervor. “I never said it, so...thanks. Don’t look away, let me be a fucking sap, okay? I’m in a hospital here. I know it’s my own fault, but you didn’t have to...do everything. For me.”

He let Miles go and kept talking to spare the journalist more of his fluff.

“They said I can see Eddie tomorrow. They won’t say how much he’s...recovered, or whatever, but they said they think it’ll be a good step for his recovery all the same. I guess they had to wait for him to get to that stage and for me to stop being...too crazy, huh? You’ll...come with me, right? You don’t have to see him, just…”

Now he felt his ego bristling. He stabbed at his treat.

“I would feel...more confident knowing you’re there…”

Miles had never cared for another in such a way before. He didn’t have siblings or even pets when he grew up, which meant he only ever felt responsibility for his own dumb ass. Getting in and out of trouble came naturally to him.

This was the first time he’d dragged someone with him and regretted it for their sake. Waylon had once been a sweet, introverted kind of nerd, who cooked like a god and stuck to rules without question.

Now he was in hospital after an attempted suicide (whatever Waylon claimed, that was exactly what it had been), struggling to cling to a semblance of sanity and excited to be reunited with the person who was responsible for this whole mess in the first place.

Miles’ hatred of Eddie was a complicated thing. It was personal, on many levels, simply because Miles had seen what Eddie was capable of, how he’d been living out his sick urges, and how quick he was to turn on Waylon, who loved him so foolishly, so whole-heartedly.

And yet, the guy was nothing but a massive, fucked up victim of Murkoff, who took his traumatic childhood and amplified its aftershocks. They never wanted to help Eddie. They wanted to see how far he could be pushed with their treatments, how endless they could make his nightmares.

Miles didn’t really understand what sort of science was behind this morphogenic engine the archived files kept bringing up, but he didn’t like the sound of it at all.

But back to Eddie and Waylon. They’d be reunited today. For Waylon’s sake, Miles hoped Eddie at least remembered him, remembered they were together and in some sick sense, in love.  
How that worked was a can of worms Miles wasn’t willing to open at the moment.

“Yeah, I’ll be there Waylon. But..maybe you shouldn’t get your hopes up too much. If they didn’t tell you he’s improved...he might not have.”

He might never.

Waylon chewed his treat slowly, huddling into his spot on the hospital bed. Well, at least Miles no longer yelled at him. He’d been more than sour when he’d confronted Waylon about Blaire. He’d said nothing about it, but had seen how Miles’ shoulders relaxed and how he stared at the news report of Blaire being found wandering around, disoriented, spouting nonsense, and missing a couple of digits.

They never talked about Blaire or Tager again.

Eddie, however, was a topic they hadn’t discussed, but knew it would be around the corner. Like now.

“I know,” Waylon said, sniffing and setting the trash aside. “He...probably won’t ever be normal by typical standards, and he might need many more months of being in the hospital but...that’s okay. I just...have hope.”

Feeling anxious, he turned on his side, back to Miles so his face couldn’t be seen.

“Gonna take a nap. Wake me when they’re ready to discharge me.”

“Hope’s dangerous, Way. But yeah, okay, I’ll wake you in a bit.”

Miles knew better than to tell Waylon over and over how pointless it was to hope for recovery for Gluskin. He was just a man too far over the edge and honestly, Miles didn’t think that they’d ever release him to freedom again. They shouldn’t. He wasn’t worth it.

-x-

The facility wasn’t anywhere near as nice as the clinic Eddie had once been to. This one was all dark brick and barbed wire fences, with guards at the entrance that looked less than happy to see visitors.

Waylon and Miles were lead to a sublevel, below ground, where doors were replaced by iron bars and sometimes plexiglass. When Miles looked at it with question, one of the guards muttered something about spitting and biting.

A great place to fix someone’s psyche, really.

One of the many doctors that took care of the patients here greeted them. She seemed rather stern, very in control, and most notably for Miles, didn’t dismiss the guards.

“I’m Doctor Morrigan. I take it you’re Mr Waylon Park?” She shook both their hands briefly and firmly. That was somehow reassuring to Miles.

She also brought them to something that resembled...well, a room for a prisoner to be investigated in, really. Doctor Morrigan pointed to one door.

“He’s already inside, Mr Park. We’ll be watching.”

Waylon brooded the entire guide throughout the place. Miles hand on his shoulder or arm kept his tongue in check. It wasn’t going to last long. Therapy had taught him to count down his anger, but at this rate, it was going to excel his patience and he was going to raise hell about it.

But first, Eddie.

It kept him from bitching, and the moment he hurried in, he felt an overload of emotions.

“Eddie…”

The man in the chair looked a lot more healed than the last time Waylon laid eyes on him. The rash had scarred Eddie’s handsome face, and the tinge to his eyes would probably never really go away. He was dressed in unflattering pale blue, just a simple little jumpsuit that all the patients had to endure.

“Darl-” Eddie twitched, looked around, shook his head, then focused on Waylon, “Waylon!” 

He tried to stand, feeling the overwhelming urge to embrace his lover, but the clink of a chain and the heavy cuffs around his wrists kept him in his seat.

Waylon had been a beacon of restless energy. He had stayed still for Eddie’s sake, terrified of disturbing Eddie’s...calm, if that’s what it was. Yet when he heard his name, he bolted forward and leapt into Eddie’s arms, burying his face in a familiar neck, exhaling shakily.

“Eddie, Eddie...God, Eddie,” he jerked back, touching all he could, laughing softly, studying the scars, the tinge of those eyes. Eddie looked more different than him. At best, he had a patch of stitches on his neck.

“What...What is this?” His hands landed on the cuffs. He glared at it. “Why are they cuffing you like this? Hey! Take these off him!”

“Mr Park, please calm down and don’t aggravate the patient.” Doctor Morrigan sounded less than impressed over the intercom, but at least she continued to explain herself.

“Mr Gluskin is very prone to unpredictable fits of rage. It’s for your own safety.”

Eddie couldn’t really embrace Waylon at all, but he leaned in as close as possible, resting his head on Waylon’s shoulder with a relieved sigh. His darling was unhurt, he was sprightly and definitely healthy and it took a load off of his shoulders to know that.

“Shh, Waylon, it’s alright, it’s alright...they think I might hurt you. I would never. Not you.”

Waylon didn’t like what the doctor had to say, but conceded to it. Having witnessed the rage, he supposed it was too much to expect it to have vanished entirely. Still, it didn’t prevent him from touching Eddie’s face, leaning into him.

“...I’ve missed you, Eddie. I...Here, sit, sorry. It’s been so long. Can...you tell me how you’re doing?”

It was awkward to try and hold Waylon and sit down, but Eddie managed somehow, having Waylon on the table in front of him. He didn’t hesitate to put his head in the man’s lap either, closing his eyes in bliss.

“I’ve missed you so much...it feels like a dream, being here with you...”

How was he doing? There was no answer for that, really.

“I remember...what they did to me. What they were trying to do...I remember it all. They’ve made me tell them, write it down, everything. Even my...my...childhood.”

“Oh, Eddie…”

Waylon implemented his arms and lap as a nest for Eddie, shielding him from those watching them from beyond the room. He stroked familiar soft hair, planted chaste kisses on Eddie’s head.

“I’m sorry. It wasn’t easy, I’m sure. Listen though,” he spoke softer, “how do they treat you? Tell me the truth. They...I was told they’d put you in the best place, and...I’m doubting that. You tell me the truth, and I’ll make sure you’re in the best place that’ll help you, Eddie.”

Eddie flinched again, burrowing his head deeper until it bumped Waylon’s stomach. He wished he could simply melt into his lover and forget they were being watched and listened to. Eddie’s voice was low, and steady.

“It helps. I guess. I can...see they’re trying...really hard. They want me to get better...fast. But...I know why...They want me to testify personally...and sue Murkoff, I guess. But they don’t...they’re not going to release me either. They know I killed those whores.”

Waylon grimaced at the term, and held Eddie tighter against him.

“You have a long way to go, Eddie,” he whispered, resting his hands on Eddie’s head. “But they’re pushing you here. I don’t like it. I’m going to have you moved. Somewhere...like before. I want to see you, help you become...better. I know you’ll have scars and...issues, that can’t be helped, but you need a place that helps you deal with that.”

He tugged Eddie’s head a bit to meet his gaze, to see the determination in his own.

“I went to a hospital too, Eddie,” he said, lightly touching his stitches, “and I worked through a lot of shit, but the one thing that stayed true was how I feel about you. And that’s why you’ll have me, to help, okay? Doesn’t matter if...well, doesn’t matter what. I love you.”

Eddie stared up at him without saying anything for a long moment, contemplating the meaning of his words. He didn’t know if Waylon had the power to have him moved around, it seemed unlikely at best. And..

Wait. Waylon loved him. Anything was possible with that, right?

“Darling...” he muttered, the tiniest of smiles gracing his lips.

“Mr Park, I’m afraid time’s up.” Doctor Morrigan stood in the door with two orderlies.

Waylon smiled, stroking Eddie’s face.

“Yeah, I’m your darling. Always. So stay strong, get better.” He offered a fierce embrace and whispered into Eddie’s ear, “I’ll get you to a better place. See you soon.”

He peeled away with effort, tugging out a necklace from under his shirt to flash it at Eddie. He’d kept the apartment key, and smiled a little softer as he let Eddie see it. Then he was ushered out, and gratefully at Miles’ side.

He glowered a bit at the personnel, then relaxed, not wanting them to turn their ire on Eddie. Not that they would, but paranoia was a tenacious friend to get rid of.

“Come on,” he told Miles, tugging on his arm. “Did they say anything to you while I was in there?”

“Ah, Mr Park, Mr Upshur, a word if you please.” Doctor Morrigan didn’t allow them to just scuttle off, ushering them to her spacious office instead. Everything was kept in a dark, wooden look, from furniture to decoration. This woman was all business, and her business today was Eddie Gluskin.

“Have a seat, gentlemen.”

Miles kept oddly mute, either intimidated by this doctor, or just for once not being a smartass.

“I couldn’t help but hear that you wish to have Mr Gluskin moved, Mr Park. I’m afraid that will be impossible.”

Waylon didn’t sit, but he stayed, if only because he didn’t have much choice in the matter. Plus, he was no tone to abandon Miles to deal with these people alone. If anything, Miles had earned his loyalty in that sense.

He also hated being told what he could and could not do. In his old life, it wouldn’t have bothered him in the slightest. Now, it sparked something nasty in him.

“Don’t tell me what’s impossible. You don’t have a clue what I can do, lady,” he said, with far more venom he thought possible of himself now. “You guys are pushing him too hard. He needs patience and not to be treated like a criminal. He’s a victim.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had a degree in psychology and therapy for extremely traumatized patients. So sorry Mr Park.” Doctor Morrigan shot venom at Waylon, but stayed firmly on the side of manners. Miles felt like he was about to watch a smackdown and found his way to a bowl of various nibbles, probably ages old and untouched by any guests.

“He’s not stable, Mr Park. We’ve been treating him with all sorts of methods, trying to find something that works. He’s starting to do exactly what we expect of him, and that is a concern. I’m afraid Mr Gluskin is rather resilient in his own way. You can’t have him discharged. It’s not in your power. He is the responsibility of this institute, and if I declare him sane, he will be on trial for serial murder.”

“Bitch!”

Waylon slammed his hands on the table, focusing all his frustration on her. He suddenly loathed how stiff she held herself, how nice her suit looked under her coat, how precise her hair was.

Whore.

The insult rose through him so naturally he didn’t recognize it at that time.

“You don’t give a fuck about him at all, do you? You just want him better so he can be put away for his crimes. He’s been punished enough! Don’t you see that? When will the cycle end! He needs help, and once he’s better, he needs a better facility, one that isn’t a fucking prison, one that can give him the hope of having some semblance of a fucking life outside walls!”

“Please calm yourself, Mr Park.” Doctor Morrigan wasn’t intimidated by Waylon’s anger. In her line of work, people so highly strung had very short careers. Instead, she kept herself entirely calm, even if she stayed her distance, backing up ever so slightly in case she needed to physically restrain the man.

“No one wants to harm Mr Gluskin. Did you not understand me? I am responsible for him, his health and life. I will not authorize a transfer into less able hands, not now that he has been settled here. We’re equipped to deal with his violent outbursts, and we have the experience to keep trying for a treatment that works. If you can’t see reason, Mr Park, I will have to deny you your visitation rights.”

Miles had gotten his ass in gear as the doctor spoke, hands on Waylon’s shoulders tight and definitely restraining.

“Way, bud, calm the fuck down, you’re freaking me out.”

Waylon did calm down, in the sense that he wasn’t slamming his hands on flat surfaces or chucking chairs around. Still he remained tense under Miles’ touch, poised for anything.

Threatening his visitation easily took him down a few pegs though.

“But you just said,” he said through gritted teeth, “you want to fix him just to put him on trial. That’s not right. If you really don’t want to hurt him, you wouldn’t do that. You’d see he was a victim who needs to know life isn’t over for him. Not yet.”

“You’re not listening to me, Mr Park. As a matter of fact, Edward Gluskin cannot return to society, in all likelihood, ever. This is not a correctional facility. Of course I’m concerned with giving him the help he needs. I am his psychiatrist, after all. But Mr Gluskin will most likely never leave here. He might improve enough to be allowed a more liberal containment, and eventually, he can be moved from high security. But he is not a man fit to be among the general population.”

She seemed disgruntled that Waylon hadn’t grasped the concept yet.

“I said if I declare him sane, he’d be on trial for what he’s done. I don’t believe he is completely insane, but definitely unaccountable for those murders. I only want him lucid enough to testify properly against the Murkoff corporation.”

Waylon blinked rapidly, going lax as he properly digested her words. Not fit for society...ever? That wasn’t right. Eddie was going to get better and sure, he’d never be like average people, but he could live quietly in a home, raise children.

He looked at Miles, like a child not understanding, then back at the doctor.

He couldn’t speak, the weight of her own sentence on Eddie stunning him to silence. He dropped his eyes to the floor, his thoughts, mess as they were becoming, for no one else’s listening.

Then, gradually, he tucked into himself, docile as he was in his old life, and even stepped a bit behind Miles.

He had nothing else to say.

Doctor Morrigan seemed to understand she had just crushed hopes and dreams, and that was not her intention at all. She had the decency to look apologetic.

“I’m sorry Mr Park. I usually stand by unspoken motto, that no one is beyond help...but I can’t let Mr Gluskin go. It’s dangerous for everyone around him, and toxic for him too. Just...believe me when I say he is in good hands here. I don’t give up on my patients.”

Waylon didn’t seem to recognize her apology, or even pick up any of the words she said. The room felt too small, so suffocating, and he was sure no fresh air came in, or at least reached his lungs.

Lightly he tugged on Miles’ sleeve, signaling he wanted to leave.


	19. Chapter 19

Miles at least sort of thanked the doctor, before leading Waylon out. They didn’t speak until they got in the car. Miles didn’t even start the engine, turning to Waylon straight away.

“I’m sorry man. I know that isn’t what you wanted to hear.”

Waylon didn’t remember leaving the building or how he’d gotten the paper in his hand. It listed the times and days he was allowed to visit, a restricted boundary of seeing Eddie smile again, and always within secured walls.

He didn’t look at Miles, but at least heard him. He kept studying the paper.

What was he supposed to say back?

He sort of shrugged one shoulder and sank back into the seat, letting the paper rest on his lap now.

“Drop me off at the old place.”

“Alright...you know I still live there, right? So do you. Sort of. Still pay rent anyhow."

Miles drove them back with the radio on so loud it wasn’t awkward to be silent. He was worried for Waylon, the man looked at the end of his rope. And although Miles sort of understood why, he still couldn’t feel with him. Eddie was in a place that seemed to know exactly what he was capable of and how to handle him. Heck, they even wanted to help him improve. 

Murkoff was on the downfall and he and Waylon still alive, unconvicted and kicking. Wasn’t this exactly what they had wanted?

It certainly was what Miles had wanted from all of this.

Waylon didn’t mind the silence, nor did he mind Miles disliking it and needing the radio on. During the drive, he replayed the sessions he had at the hospital, of how he felt he had improved. In a way, he had. He recognized people cared about him, not just Eddie.

And he knew he’d never take his life. He hadn’t meant to try before, but no one seemed to believe that.

He was better then, wasn’t he?

Waylon sat up as he saw the old apartment building pull into view. They were in the process of moving back into it, but Waylon didn’t plan to see the place he shared with Miles. Instead, he went up and to Eddie’s old place, opening it, coming in, studying every bare space.

Gradually he opened the lock to the workroom. He tried not to think that Eddie wouldn’t be back here.

Inside, he saw the dress he hadn’t been allowed to before.

Beautiful didn’t cover it. It was out of the league of Eddie’s already fantastic pieces, and he knew instantly that it was for him.

He smiled a bit, circling the dress, touching it. Was it done? It looked just about, but he couldn’t be sure.

He was very careful dragging the mannequin body and the dress it wore out and into his and Miles’ place, which was still in rather lived-in condition. Waylon suspected Miles just gravitated back to the old asylum, never really at home in the new apartment.

“Uhm...”

Miles thought that with the visit to the ‘hospital’, the craziness had ended for the day. But it was not to be so, because Waylon was dragging a mannequin and expensive looking dress right into their old living room. It could only have come from Gluskin’s apartment.

“Uhm. Waylon? What the hell are you doing?”

Waylon grunted as he adjusted the precious gift into the living room. His room lacked the space needed to fit the entire thing, so it’d have to make do here for now. He dusted it off, made sure nothing was touching it.

He finally glanced at Miles.

“It’s mine. Eddie made it for me.”

If Waylon hadn’t already spent time in therapy, Miles would have dragged him to it now.

“Waylon...that’s...a bit psycho, don’t you think? Can’t you just put it in a box and in your room? It’s bigger than a fucking christmas tree. And it’s blocking the TV.”

Miles eyed the dress. It looked pretty good, you know, for a white cupcake of fabric.

“I bet it’s worth a fortune. Probably the last Gluskin original, hm?”

Waylon pulled a face and shot Miles a dark look for even thinking of anyone selling what was rightfully his to own and wear. True, it was a dress, but that hardly fazed him at this point. Eddie had made it. For him. For their...wedding.

He couldn’t fault Miles though, not anymore.

He looked at the dress, then shifted it so it wouldn’t block the T.V.

Ignoring the request to box it, Waylon said, “You know what she said...about not being fit for society.” He smoothed his hands along the side of the dress. “...I think Eddie and I share that in common.”

“Come on man. You’re not that bad,” Miles had gotten himself a beer and turned into a semi-boneless being on the couch. They really needed a fucking holiday or something to unwind this whole mess. Taking Murkoff down was out of their hands and now, that only left the crazy to deal with, namely Waylon.

“Look, if it was possible to just put you and Gluskin in a bubble somewhere so you could live happily ever after, away from all people, I would help you do it. I know you really...love that...psycho. But do me a favour and don’t get all bat-shit crazy now. Put the dress in your room...like tomorrow. Okay? I don’t want to sit here and see it every day.”

He sipped his beer, before eyeing the priceless dress once more.

“You really think he realized you’re a guy? I mean, he made you a fucking dress.”

Waylon gradually stepped back from the dress, head tilting that way and this, before he withdrew to the couch. Settling beside Miles, he continued looking at the dress, indifferent to Miles’ plight for what it symbolized.

To Waylon, it was all the good parts of Eddie, the ones that didn’t belong in a hospital all his life.

“It’s for a man,” he said, more to himself than Miles. He didn’t sound like he had plans to elaborate.

Instead, he added in a whisper, “I’ll always be a little crazy.”

He’d move it tomorrow though. He’d make room for it.

Like Miles, Waylon sank into the couch, eyes still on his dress and beyond it to a world only he and Eddie were privy to. Miles was invited, mostly because he couldn’t handle long doses of Eddie. For all his dislike of the killer, Waylon knew to appreciate what Miles said, about carving them a niche where Eddie could not hurt anyone, where no one could hurt him.

A home of their own.

Waylon slowly lowered his head onto Miles’ shoulder. Physical contact reminded him that Miles remained present and had not vacated into the crevices of safety, away from Waylon, away from whatever this world the software engineer lived in now.

He stayed like that a while longer.

-x-

One month, another...maybe another four, maybe just one more, maybe only weeks. It all passed the same for Waylon: one arduous tread in the cold.

From afar, it might have seemed as if Waylon had reversed into the role of dutiful civilian. He worked from home on a new job, cooked meals for Miles again, and, well, that was about it. Those closest knew that he was far from living life. He was…

Surviving, he decided.

Lisa had put up enough with his ignorance and flown over to stay with them a few days. Waylon didn’t respond to her tears, but he hugged her back when she clung to him, begging him to remember how much she loved him, how much his family did.

He believed that.

It must have been more awkward for Miles than dinner with Eddie. At least with Eddie, Miles understood what to predict and had a detachment from the killer. With Lisa, she was a person with emotions that warranted her bouts of yelling and crying, things that made it difficult for Miles to intervene with.

And as much as Lisa loved him, she couldn’t abandon everything for Waylon. He convinced her of that, ushered her home a week later, wishing he wasn’t the cause for that face she made. He knew it was unhealthy, his feelings.

He stuck with the therapist, more to appease Miles than anything else. The guy was genuinely concerned for him. Waylon promised he wouldn’t kill him in his sleep, but that seemed the least of Miles’ predictions.

Eddie brought him back, where he could breathe fully again.

He wasn’t excited as when he was in the older clinic. He would quietly drive to the hospital, with or without Miles, say nothing to the staff, and wait for Eddie in the room.

Then, a smile, and he was in Eddie’s arms.

He didn’t tell him what the doctor had informed him, nor much else on that matter. He discussed Eddie’s progress, talked about houses he was looking at, and eventually of foods to bring. So long as he didn’t throw a fit like the first time, they’d allowed him to bring Eddie meals he made, of course not without guards and who else prodding at it, inspecting it.

It was something.

He liked watching Eddie enjoy his meals, like they were a step back at the old apartment, together, just them on a chilly night sharing company and watching that Leave it to Beaver show Eddie had been fond of.

They weren’t hurting Eddie here, but in a sense, Waylon believed they were. Eddie didn’t deserve to live the rest of his life here. Each time he embraced Eddie, he grasped onto that belief. Strange though, as before his faith would spark him into fierce action.

Now, as he replayed the words ‘danger to society’ in his mind as he worked at his laptop, Waylon held himself with a permanent air of...goneness. It wasn’t absolute. He was there, interacting, and yet depersonalized from what brought most people comfort and joy.

He didn’t really talk anymore, unless prompted. He cooked, served Miles food with a small smile, and often retreated to his room, for a walk, anything that didn’t really keep him there. Besides, he believed Miles might be better off without his presence bringing down the atmosphere.

Or what was left of it in their place.

Today, Waylon graced Miles with talking first, eyes still fixed on his laptop.

“I’ll be moving soon. It’d be better this way.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh i have no idea how this fic ends but we're working towards it

“Moving?” Miles immediately lost track of what he was reading, promptly forgetting that he and Waylon had been sort of silently living alongside each other without interaction or impact on one another. Not for lack of trying mind you. Miles had tried and tested everything to return Waylon to the land of the living, the land of those that enjoyed other things than staring a creepy dresses and pining over every visit to a mental institution.

Miles still worried for Waylon, but his patience had exhausted itself. Already his life had turned into a new direction, and amongst the cases he had been offered to investigate, he’d also started to see someone regularly. He would have told Waylon, if he thought his roommate cared at all.

“Where the fuck are you moving to?”

Waylon peered up at Miles’ surprise. Then, he shut his laptop and grabbed a beer for Miles. Lately he had averted alcohol, worried he’d fall into a spiral of alcoholism. He grabbed one for himself as well after a moment, and joined Miles on the couch.

“Miles,” he said, offering a beer, “I owe you an apology.You did a lot for me, but you were right to expose Murkoff. They were hurting a lot of people, not just Eddie, and I...was hurting the families of his victims by hiding it.”

He glanced down at his drink.

“I’m glad you moved on. You’re seeing someone too, I think. You are out often on weekends, and for dinner times.”

Difficult as it was, he lifted his head and met Miles’ eyes.

“I have to...accept that...life isn’t fair for everyone. Maybe another lifetime...Eddie and I,” his breathing came out shakily, so he composed himself with a few pauses, “I found a house. I want to try one last thing for Eddie, and...well, it’ll have a guest house too, once renovations are done. You know...open for you should you need it. I can’t...rely on your company. If you did meet someone special, you’d want to eventually live with them. I can’t bring you down like that, Miles.”

Miles couldn’t do anything more intelligent than flap his lips for a couple of seconds, trying to piece together what exactly was going on in Waylon’s head. It sure as hell wasn’t easy to guess at.

A house? A thing for Eddie? Did the former software engineer still believe he could get custody of his lover? He thought back to what he’d said, and wondered if he had unintentionally inspired Waylon for more craziness. Isolation from society wasn’t possible, unless you wanted to live off the fruit of the land in some hut in the woods. And to bring Eddie Gluskin there? It was like inviting your own murder with open arms.

Maybe that’s how far Waylon was gone. Miles didn’t like it. He cursed Gluskin for ever becoming important to Waylon. Why couldn’t he have fallen for Lisa, that charming smartmouth who seemed ever so protective of Waylon always? Hell, even Miles would have been better for Waylon than the psycho next door.

But it was too late for such wishful thinking now. The damage was done and the chips were falling hard.

“Waylon...it sounds like you’re going all cabin in the woods on me. Are you really considering becoming a hermit? I hate to...see you down, fuck, I really do. And what you’re saying sounds pretty damn desperate. They won’t give you Gluskin and I’m kind of glad about that. He...he might very well be the death of you.”

Waylon’s lips twitched at the concern. For a guy built on sarcasm and sass, Miles certainly could expose his worries for him so easily, whether or not he recognized that. It made Waylon’s smile grow a little.

“Relax,” he said, scooting closer. “It’s not like that. And listen, I know I’ve been...out of it. I don’t think I’ll ever be quite back to how I was, and I’m okay with that, but you...Miles, if it weren’t for you, I think I would have done something worse a long time ago.”

He lowered his gaze, perhaps not as much into the sap as Miles thought he was.

“I love Eddie, and I love you too in its own way. I think if I did something drastic, it’d really...hurt you, and that’s not fair to you. But this last project, it’s...important. It’s not isolated by much, but if they humor me,” he winced, as if already knowing it was a long shot, “it would be for Eddie.”

He got up, set his beer down, and brought his laptop over to show Miles.

“It’s a smart house I’ve been working on. I got the idea after a project from this new job. It’s...mostly why I haven’t been giving much attention. I just want to try, and if they...don’t, maybe I can have hope they’ll consider it for later.”

He shook his head as if to force himself to not get too lifted in spirits.

“Look. See how the entire house would be embedded with my software. If I make Eddie wear something, like...a wrist band or something, I’m not sure yet I have to see what would or wouldn’t work in my tests, the house can be calibrated to his body. It’ll recognize his tone, his projection, his body temperature, and the like. And look, places that have objects his doctors say he can’t have access to, like razors or knives, they’d be linked with me, so he couldn’t open it, see? And here, look, back here I’d attach an extension to the home for whatever the doctors might want. Therapy room, um...well, whatever else they might need. The house would run on backup generators in case of a power outage. Really, my software design, once totally completed, would be tailored to something more secure than what the hospital has now.”

He felt flushed from the explanation, knowing he’d gotten a little eager, and not just because of the potential for Eddie. Somewhere along the way he’d forgotten his enjoyment in this field of work, of being able to push limits, reach new levels of software that could change lives for the better.

He looked at Miles, hesitated, then cracked a smile he hadn’t in a while.

“I bet you’re just thinking I should patent this and make millions of it, aren’t you?”

“It’s like you can read my mind,” Miles sighed, flipping some of hair out of his face. He really ought to get it cut, in all of this mess, personal appearance had hardly mattered to any of them. Waylon probably would have a full beard if he wasn’t half korean. 

“Apart from the fact that, wow, you’ve gone off the deep end, it doesn’t sound too bad. You know, if it actually works? Which I would want to fucking see to believe. If you can contain Eddie...I guess you deserve the chance to try.”

He still looked skeptical though, because truly, this idea was kind of out of the ballpark of sanity.

“So..uh, how are you gonna finance all of this? And pitch it? Won’t it take you years to make a house...like that? Wiring and shit?”

Waylon grunted, pulling up a spreadsheet that detailed finances.

“We got a lot of money from the Murkoff shit. I have enough from my share to fund it, but...to keep it up, I can’t afford to not work. If it works, and they at least test it, maybe they’d help me fund it if it really does as I say.”

He closed the laptop and rubbed his eyes hard.

“I’d need a year. I can do the wiring and all that on my own. I’m good at this. I don’t need years, Miles. I plan to bring up the project to Eddie’s doctor to...well, to see. They think he can’t...okay, not think, they know he can’t be part of regular society and...I’m...inclined to agree despite my bias. If I can prove to them Eddie is actually more secured in the house, they might be up for it. Plus, it’d calm him, having a house. He must hate not having his own space.”

He looked over and shrugged apologetically, remembering Miles didn’t really care if Eddie got out.

“I should patent it. It’d fund everything I needed. And even if they say no...well, then they say no.” It wouldn’t stop him from visiting Eddie, from sharing the small space on the loveseat they earned after many visits.

He sighed and laid his fingers over the laptop. Then, gradually, he put it aside as though it took more effort than necessary.

“Come on,” he said.

At Miles’ curious look, he waved him over.

“Let’s go rent a movie, get some stuff, and I’ll make that lamb stew you love so much.”

He wasn’t sure if that look on Miles meant relief or something akin to happiness aimed Waylon’s way, but it made him feel good nonetheless to see Miles not so tense around him. He kept pace with his roommate, even asked him about the guy he was seeing.

It was a lot like old times. Waylon felt different though, seeing life through a new set of lenses. Maybe it was a new age of maturity for him? Maybe it was the craziness. Maybe they were the same thing.

It didn’t matter much, he decided. As he coaxed Miles back to the apartment’s higher levels and dropped off a meal to Trager, who eagerly accepted it and thanked them from the sliver of his cracked door, he felt the apartment building carving itself into his psyche forever.

Even if he moved into the new home, with Eddie or not, and if Miles left this place too, he didn’t think they’d really ever leave it.

-x-

He patented his new product.

Corporations were starved for it, but Waylon weeded them out meticulously. He wasn’t going to allow anyone to paw over his work to use for harm. With Miles’ help, they picked a reputable organization (confirmed by them both) that would assist in further progress without detrimental results for either side. It was a good partnership, and Waylon decided he’d allow them to use his program at a later date.

For now, he implemented what he could. Of course Miles had to be his guinea pig. They’d tried a patch on his body, but it proved a hassle to keep it attached in all conditions, which lead to more than one incident of a surge of electricity running through the journalist. It was a very low dose, not meant to harm but to stun a little, but, well, errors in the first round.

Ultimately, they went with a flexible wristband looped firmly around Miles’ wrist. They ran all sorts of tests, including having Miles step outside the barrier lined by the program. A light sting of power. Things were working, errors being fixed, and Waylon feeling like he was having a good time.

He visited Eddie as usual, not saying anything about the house, or the dress he still had in his room. He rather enjoyed sitting by him, watching him eat, tell him about his new job and, sometimes, asking how Eddie felt, if his past still haunted him at night.

It was surreal at times, stepping in and out of the hospital, going from one world to the next.

In the world with Miles, he could at least start to feel less guilty about smiling, even chuckling, when Miles said something particularly clever or bitched about how someone was shocking him on purpose when running tests in the house.

Like now, as Waylon removed the band around his wrist and ensured the area had still received no negative reaction to the material it had been made of--no latex, not for Eddie. He rubbed the area and clicked his tongue.

“You baby. You’re fine. I think that’s all we can do...we ran as many tests as possible. Now I...have to show the results to the doctor,” he said, looking up at Miles. He finally got his haircut. It made Waylon smile, remembering how he’d given Eddie his (with difficulty, and only with Eddie’s limbs cuffed to one thing or the other).

“Here, before I forget,” he said, pulling out a slip of paper from the files on the nearby table. There was commotion around them as engineers kept securing wires, testing connections.

Waylon offered what was a check. “It’s an account for you. It’s half of what I got from the patent. I already made it so you can’t take it back. Yeah, I’m aware I kind of did that illegally but I figure you’d forgive me for that.” 

“You hardcore charitable criminal, Park,” Miles didn’t even get offended about how Waylon simply went ‘over his head’ with this whole thing. Of course he’d make it airtight so that Miles couldn’t possibly have good manners and refuse the money. 

Not that he would. Hell, what kind of idiot did that? Besides, he had played guinea pig after all, and missed a buttload of stuff he could be investigating. Plus, he’d been seeing his regular guy less, which had to be compensated. Miles figured he could probably afford to buy the man a restaurant with the money Waylon just handed to him.

“You want me there for your presentation? Should get yourself a suit and everything. They’ll be impressed and they better be. You put a shitload into this pretty new hospital room.”

Waylon didn’t think he could feel proud for so long, but Miles did the trick.

“Yeah, I’d like you to come. I know you don’t care for Eddie, but you’re a big fucking baby when it comes to me, and I know I’m lucky for it.” He walked with Miles, pleased the guy took the money as though he had earned it, which he had.

The air felt fresher here, though it was surprisingly near the hospital. Maybe it was Waylon’s mood that let him believe that.

“Guess you’re right. You don’t get tired of hearing that. I should look...less crazy. I have to be prepared.” He peeked at Miles. “Either way...whatever happens, you should...if you want, you could come to dinner here. Bring your new ‘friend’. I think either way we should,” he exhaled, hoping he didn’t look as terrified as he felt, “celebrate. For at least coming this far. What do you think?”

“Sure, but you gotta cuff Gluskin to the table. Otherwise no deal.” Miles still made his off-hand remarks, he’d never been sensitive about running his mouth about Eddie in front of Waylon, and he wasn’t going to start now.

“Come on. Do a rehearsal for me. I’ll tell you how insane you sound.”

-x-

Doctor Morrigan didn’t look all that impressed, but her boss was hanging onto Waylon’s every word. Half the board seemed to share that opinion, especially once they heard of the potential to develop this technology further. It would make monitoring difficult cases so much easier, and opened a whole new door for their kind of therapy. 

It was safe to say they were interested. Especially when they heard of how personally involved Waylon was in the case. That meant for less attention to the price of it all. Miles kind of wanted to flip them all off. They looked like vultures.

“Mr Park, it sounds quite the sensational idea,” the chairman began, but he was cut off by Doctor Morrigan almost immediately.

“Yes, indeed. But not for the patient you have in mind, Mr Park. I’d be glad to try it out with just about anyone else.”

Waylon had surprised himself with how fluidly he spoke. All the dread, awkwardness, anger and everything else balled into a mass of nastiness had seemingly vanished in the moment he had to present his project. Maybe Miles’ presence next to him helped with that.

So he kept himself in check when Morrigan spoke against him.

“I understand you have...reservations, and I do believe you want what’s best for your patient. I’m...look, I know I’m not a psychiatrist, a therapist, or a doctor in any way. But I know Eddie in a way you never can get to, and I think that allows me a tiny bit of leeway to say that, at some point, he deserves a little good. The concerns about his security isn’t an issue. My work makes it so that you can construct its founded code on a specific person.

“Think of it almost like a halfway house, without the...real potential to return to society. You were right. Eddie may not be able to return to society, but if he had a place he could call his own, I think it’d give you pathways into his mind than you couldn’t before.”

He made sure his tone wasn’t insulting when he added, “He’s good at pretending, isn’t he? I knew that the first time I visited him, that he was mostly saying what you wanted him to say, just like,” he paused, “...when he told Murkoff that engine was doing what they wanted it to do to him.” 

Morrigan nodded, the severity in her gaze lessening a little with frustration. Her most challenging case was simultaneously the one she kept failing at. Eddie Gluskin was a living artwork of how much a person could turn into themselves, to shut the real world out entirely.

“That’s very much on point Mr Park. I am simply afraid that it would not change his behaviour to be in this new isolation, with only you as company. He has a strong tendency to fixate on you, even when you aren’t around. I believe he’s even faked progress in stabilizing his grasp on reality for the sake of keeping your regular visits. I don’t want to destroy everything he’s achieved by releasing him into a new situation too soon.”

The meeting room was quiet, in respect for Doctor Morrigan’s opinion since she was now head of her department. Well, at least until a guard entered the room, nervous as hell to be facing the board with the news he had.

“Doctor Morrigan! Councilman Anders...we have a problem. A big problem.”

“Well don’t just stammer, man, spit it out.” Anders was less than pleased and the man grew more nervous.

“We...uh...well...we were on duty in the yard...but...the patients, uhm...”

“Oh god, that was group 13 in the yard, right?”

“Yeah. They’re...gone.”

“What?!”

“What do you mean gone?!”

“You better come see, doctor, chairmen,” the guard seemed intimately aware of his failure.

“They overwhelmed Henrikson and Paul and they...they...killed Peters!”

Collective gasps went around the room. Doctor Morrigan was all hard edges and glares again.

“How? Who?”

“Gluskin just strangled him with his bare hands, then they took off with one of the...laundry vans...”

Waylon had heard of knowing what an omen stood for before the event took place. It was like that when the guard burst in. His heart had fallen to his feet, his skin felt clammy, and the moment he heard Eddie’s name, he bolted out as if he was being chased by hell itself.

He never flew so quickly down stairs and by the time he stumbled outside, he could hear the screech of tires in the distance.

“Oh, God, shit, shit, fucking…”

Waylon dove into the car and headed for the old apartment, thinking that was the only place Eddie had to go.

Miles didn’t even get the chance to catch up with Waylon. He cursed as his friend’s car disappeared into the distance. The institute was in turmoil and a black sedan screeched to a halt next to him.

“Get the hell in the car.” Morrigan looked rather determined and Miles took the moment not to argue with her.

-x-

The van didn’t seem to have a clear destination at all. They went in circles twice, down a dead-end street, before mounting the sidewalk and having pedestrians leap out of the way. Then, it jerked into an entirely different direction and one of the doors flew open. A body came flying out of it, the unfortunate patient smashing into the windshield of an oncoming truck. The laundry van didn’t stop, door open and flailing back and forth as the mad ride continued.

But Waylon was right about where it was going.

The drive up to Mount Massive Apartments had the van’s engine groaning. Whoever was driving didn’t remember how transmissions worked, clearly. The car crashed into the gate, coming to a stop next to the entrance.

The doors flew open and a huddled man ran up to the door, bursting it open with his mass alone.

Waylon had driven like a madman easily to keep up with the van. Granted, he was running on full adrenaline, which made dodging pedestrians easier, but no less terrifying. 

The instant the van ‘parked’, Waylon smashed the brake and tore after the large form, screaming at the top of his lungs.

“Eddie! Eddie, what are you doing! Eddie!”

Eddie didn’t stop for Waylon’s voice. His mass easily disappeared into the building, the stairs groaning as he ran up to the floor of his old apartment. The locked door didn’t present much resistance to his shoulder. 

By the time Waylon got to the apartment, Eddie was standing in his former workroom, chest heaving from the effort of getting here. He also had one of his immaculate kitchen knives (nobody had cleared that part of his former apartment out) in hand.

Waylon felt his lungs on fire and there was a pain in his side that forced him into a hunch. He panted as he collapsed against the entry way to Eddie’s place.

“E...Eddie,” he rasped, dragging himself deeper inside, finding the man standing tall in his old workroom. “Eddie! It’s me...Waylon.”

“Where is it?” Eddie hissed, roughly emptying boxes on the floor, priceless fabrics discarded with no care. He seemed angry, and he didn’t look at Waylon once. One of the mannequins, dusty and unused for more than a year, went flying across the room as Eddie kicked in anger.

“Where is it?! My darling’s dress, it was here, where is it?!”

If Waylon had been afraid catapulting a block of metal through the city, it was a small nuisance compared to what he felt now. Eddie was all seething rage, tearing through things, not recognizing his voice.

He had to get his attention.

Ducking flying boxes, Waylon navigated around the front, then reached out when he had the chance and grabbed Eddie’s arm as gently as he could.

“Eddie!”

“What?!” Eddie snarled and instead of grabbing Waylon’s arm, the knife sliced dangerously close to the man’s side. It only touched the very outer layer of skin, but it had merely been an accident Eddie didn’t slash it any closer.

“Where is it? Did you steal it? You little whore!”

Waylon recoiled back, crashing into the wall, fixated on the knife that had grazed him. He forced himself to look up at Eddie, never having felt to sure Eddie might kill him as he did now.

“I...I have it in a s-safe place,” he said. “They were go-going to take it. I have it. It’s safe. It’s...Eddie, it’s me. Can’t you see?”

He was too afraid to reach his hand out to Eddie this time.

“You stole it! Give it back! Slut! Whore!”

Eddie didn’t see Waylon, not as he used to, not as he should. At least he wasn’t stabbing him just yet. Instead, his hand went to the front of Waylon’s suit, lifting him up against the wall by his clothes. His monstrous strength only seemed heightened by his anger.

“Edward! No! Put him down!”

Doctor Morrigan and a very out-of-breath Miles had appeared in the doorway. The doctor came charging in, entirely unafraid as she threw herself between Eddie and Waylon, knocking Eddie’s arm enough to make him drop Waylon.

“Darling!”

Waylon gasped as he fell hard to the ground, scrambling to stand up again. But when he did, he felt like he should have stayed on the ground. The darling wasn’t addressed to him. Eddie didn’t even see him. At all.

How? They had just seen each other less than a month ago.

He should have been grateful the attention was off him. He felt ill.

“Eddie?” he breathed.

Morrigan was still blocking Eddie’s access to Waylon, and she seemed capable of staring him down like a rabid predator. Eddie took deep breaths as his gaze didn’t waver from the doctor.

“Darling, have you been seeing...him?” Eddie’s hand wandered to the doctor’s shoulder and gripped tightly there. Morrigan didn’t flinch, but it must have hurt.

“That won’t do. Won’t do at all. Are you like them?”

“No, Edward, calm down...this isn’t what you’re seeing. You remember Waylon Park? Your lover? Waylon?”

“Waylon...Waylon....left me too. Abandoned me, just like they all did. Whore! Bitch!” Eddie seemed to choke on more insults, before he suddenly collapsed forward. Miles stood with a wooden cutting board in hand, one he had clearly just smashed in the back of Eddie’s head.

He was breathing quite heavily, shock plastered on his face.

“Jesus fucking christ. I thought he was over all this shit?!”

Morrigan breathed out, kneeling down by Eddie and checking if he was out cold. He was.

“It’s nothing but a relapse...believe it or not. This wasn’t as bad as I expected.”

“You’ve got some explaining to do, doc. I don’t think your therapy worked.”

Miles smashing Eddie’s head over rattled Waylon out of his stupor. He trembled and fell back against the wall, emotions catchin up and adrenaline waning, making for a dangerous cocktail of instability.

He covered his face, tried to listen to the echoes of his therapist. Breathe. Realign himself.

It wasn’t helping as much as he wanted. He couldn’t even get close to Eddie, staring at his body as if the sight crushed what remained of his hope, and it left him feeling terribly lonely.

Morrigan finally turned to Waylon, checking for injuries and watching his expression crumble. She gently grasped his arm, her grip rather strong and steady for someone who’d just been threatened at knifepoint.

“Mr Park? Are you alright?” she took his silence as a no, but decided that she needed to explain things at least to him. 

“Before you completely despair...Mr Gluskin has been on new medication. Most of the time, it keeps him very tranquil and very honest. He’s told me so much about his mother, his father...his childhood. It was worth the fits, and this was one of them.”

“So..what, this was like a tantrum?” Miles seemed less casual about the experience, “Correct me if I’m wrong, doc, but he killed at least two people during his little fit.”

Morrigan frowned again, patting the back of Eddie’s head to check for damage there. Luckily, he was pretty thick-skulled.

“It was an accident, a horrendous one. It was risky to have him outside with so little supervision...he can’t be accounted for those deaths.”

Miles didn’t seem convinced at all.

“I guess this nullifies Waylon’s proposal, right?”

The doc stood up, fishing in her pocket for a pack of cigarettes. She usually never smoked in front of ‘guests’ but this was an extraordinary circumstance.

“Not necessarily. Your idea could be...seen as a glorified prison, which is no doubt where the board will want Mr Gluskin after this incident...the decision lies with Mr Park though. After this..he might not want to be responsible for Mr Gluskin.”

Waylon had tried to talk, thought he was, but wasn’t aware he was doing anything more than whispered fragments of the phrase ‘I’m fine’, over and over. It took him a long while to digest what was being said, and when he caught up to it, he snapped his head up.

When had Miles gotten here?

“I, uh,” he touched his head. He needed to go outside.

When he made it outside, he threw up into the bushes.

His stomach felt in knots. Gradually he was able to lean against the brick wall. There were people rushing by now, and he realized it was police and others in uniform. He didn’t care, glad to be out of the way enough that no one talked to him.

He sat down eventually, knees drawn up, calming his breathing. He wasn’t surprised to feel someone standing near him, and less surprised it had to be Miles, though he hadn’t looked up to confirm.

“Did they take him yet?”

“Taking him out now,” Miles had been standing by silently, waiting for Waylon to calm down. It must have created chaos in his head, to see Gluskin as he was right now. Still a psycho, despite all of Waylon’s love. It was a horrible waste, and it must have hurt. Even Miles could empathise with that.

“You’re probably not okay, huh buddy? Doc said Gluskin’s going back to the institute...”

Waylon sat a little longer, knowing he had to keep himself calm for a good few minutes before he tried anything. He figured the therapy wasn’t a complete waste.

With Miles’ assistance, he managed to get up and steady himself. He shook his head in answer, and didn’t need to elaborate. Miles probably knew, but it didn’t mean Waylon thought any better about how Miles felt about Eddie.

“Guess we should go,” he said, walking slowly to make sure Miles got into the car with him. “Can you drive?”

Miles did, and Waylon asked him to go to the hospital. During the ride, he continued replaying what he’d seen, how he’d felt so helpless and scared, and angry at how unfair things were. Bitch all he wanted, it wouldn’t change. Another point for therapy.

It took them a while to be seen by Morrigan again. Understandable. Waylon ignored or waved off (if persistent) assistance. He said he was fine. He didn’t want their help or to talk to anyone but Morrigan about his project.

Once they were finally allowed admittance, Waylon carefully sat down, shaky legs grateful for it.

He licked his lips.

“I want to hand over my project to you,” he said finally. “You need a more secured facility, and my house allows that. Yet…”

He shut his eyes. All this time, he’d put Eddie’s well being before his own, before their joint future. Long ago he hadn’t noted that unhealthy decision making. Another point to therapy, and triple points for Miles.

“I can’t live there,” he said. “Not...yet.”

He opened his eyes and met her gaze. The doctor he had humored and had never humored him had proven she had the better chance of helping Eddie better himself. Waylon might know Eddie on a level no one else can, but what was the point if that Eddie was unreachable right now?

True, the house he designed would physically restrain Eddie if he got violent with Waylon. That had been part of the purpose, yet being witness to that rage, blind as it was, Waylon knew he couldn’t endure it. He’d break, and then they would truly lose what little future they might have had to start with.

“When you see fit we could...try to give him a semblance of living with me, maybe gradually, then I’ll consider it.” 

Waylon felt exposed, giving everything he had to Morrigan, save for the love he felt for Eddie. It was an awful feeling to know he really had no chance to improve Eddie until they’d shaven the layers to get to him, and worse that there was a person that could do it that acted independently of his whims. 

He wanted Eddie and he hoped Eddie wanted him. Want and need were very different things, and Waylon had eschewed the latter too long.

“Eddie needs you more than he needs me.”

“Thank you...Mr Park. That...must have been very hard for you to say,” Morrigan nodded, and gratitude was in her expression. She was a passionate psychiatrist, who went far and beyond for her patients, even if she seemed to have a cold and uncaring exterior. Eddie Gluskin was her biggest challenge and she was determined to turn out some kind of success with him.

“If it’s alright with you...I’d like to tie you into some of his therapy sessions. He knows you, Mr Park. And he loves you. That’s a source of stability no one else can take. He literally loves you so much, he becomes blinded to what is happening around him. He projected...you onto me...traded your name for darling and nothing else in his mind. That’s why he didn’t recognize you at all...he’s...still locked in his head. And what he’s been showing to the outside was nothing but facade.”

Morrigan shook her head.

“But he’s made progress nonetheless. Could you tell me what he was looking for here?”

Waylon looked about to break again, but for a new reason. Hearing Morrigan confirm with her own expertise that Eddie loved him, and had not fabricated his love out of an extension of filling a need, made it all seem worth it.

Eddie loved him.

He swallowed his heart back down and breathed evenly.

“He, uh, it’s a dress. A gown he...made for me. For a man’s body. I have it in the old apartment still.”

“I see...maybe he fixated on it as a last remnant of life with you,” Morrigan watched Waylon carefully, took in every change of expression, every way he moved and sounded at the mention of Eddie’s deep affection.

“I’m serious, Mr Park. I will need you for his therapy. You might even have to wear that dress, if worst comes to worse. We’ll have to see when he wakes up. But for now...how are you feeling? I’m going to have to evaluate you alongside Mr Gluskin.”

Waylon lifted his head and tried not to get distracted by his own thoughts.

“What? Oh, y-yes, of course. If you think so, I’d come to any session.”

He paused at the dress matter, but said nothing on it.

“I’m...shaken up, I guess. Shit, I’m supposed to call my therapist when that happens.” He looked at Miles for direction, then decided it could wait. He was in the presence of a psychiatrist after all. “Does that mean I don’t have to go to my other therapy sessions then?”

“That depends on how you feel, Mr Park. I could probably take you on as an outward patient...might make it easier to synergize you with Mr Gluskin...But that’s up to your personal preference. You wouldn’t want just anyone in your head, right?”

Morrigan smiled slightly now, able to see the humor in her profession. It was scarce and thinly stretched when you had cases like Eddie Gluskin to take care of, but it survived and lingered on.

“I’ll call you when he’s lucid, and when the meds are through his system. I guarantee you, he will be burning to apologize profusely. He’ll remember. And he’ll hate himself. So please come when I call.”

Waylon groaned. Frankly, he didn’t want anyone in his head and put up with his therapy sessions because it seemed to keep him balanced enough, and it put Miles at ease (and Lisa too, no doubt). Thus the predicament that he was going to be evaluated by two people now.

He hoped there were no skeletons in his closet he wasn’t aware of.

“Okay,” he said at last, gripping the chair to stand carefully. “I’ll be nearby…”

He looked at Miles, offered a small, tired smile.

“I think Miles could use some non-hospital scenery anyway now.”

“Miles could use just about anything that contains alcohol and music loud enough to make me forget this day ever happened.” Waylon’s roommate held onto his arm, as if he had to make sure that Waylon wouldn’t drop off the deep end any moment.

“I’ll call you as soon as possible, Mr Park. And remember...just a relapse.”

Morrigan got into her sedan, following the train of cars with police escort. 

“He knows how to make a scene, your fella.” Miles said once they were alone.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> home-stretch darlings. next chapter will be the last

Waylon sagged a little against his roommate, accepting the help. Looked like he could use it all night given the day they had.

He relaxed a little in the car, realizing Miles drove more often than not when they were in the car together. He looked over at his roommate, wondering how much time he had before Eddie would have him come over.

“Why do you put up with me, Miles?”

“Man, you really gonna go there with me right now?” Miles rolled his eyes and stared ahead, wondering when their life had gotten an axis called Gluskin that they spun around endlessly. He also would rather not acknowledge the clump of feelings in his gut towards Waylon.

“You’re like a little brother to me, Way. How could I not put up with you? Besides, you made me a shitload of money, I think that warrants a little patience, huh?”

Waylon smiled broadly, even if it took more out of him than he had to offer at the moment. It had nothing to do with the money, but he allowed Miles to list it if it helped his ego and overall masculinity--whatever construct of the word the journalist had chosen for it, anyway.

He couldn’t help but ask, almost playfully, “You sure you don’t have this crush on me that never went away? They do say a way to a man’s heart is his stomach and given your stomach, I must own every inch of your heart.”

He had to admit it felt good. No, great, to be able to talk to Miles like this. Maybe the weight of Eddie’s recovery had been too much and now that he shouldered it to Morrigan, he could have room for this.

“You’re really cruising for a bruising, bud,” Miles shook one fist in Waylon’s direction, but the easy smile on his lips betrayed his ‘hurt’ ego.

“You’re still too scrawny for my tastes, Waylon. If you want a piece of the Upshur estate, you’re gonna have to get a gym membership. Sorry, this is an exclusive resort.”

Waylon laughed, softly, but it felt as fresh as morning air.

“No thanks,” he said, settling back and closing his eyes slowly. “I’ll stick to little brother. Besides, I like you better as a big brother.” He yawned. “Better invite your new squeeze to dinner…”

He opened his eyes.

“You never told me how you met, you know. Better invite him sooner than later. I’m curious now.”

“Oh...you know, things happen when you meet people in a bar sometimes. Remember Vince? It’s his brother.

Waylon did remember, and felt something that must have been content when genuine curiosity had him question Miles, and later his mysterious partner, all night.

-x-

Time went on, as it always did, never minding the woes of lovers to serial killers.

Half a year passed before Doctor Morrigan gave Waylon permission, even instruction, to move into the house Eddie now lived in. She would supervise their first weeks together on location, after that only through the remote link that the smarthouse would provide.

She seemed a lot less stressed when she greeted Waylon in the driveway. The house was more of a cabin and it stood lonely in the forest, with its garden marked off by a high, iron fence. Perhaps that was the only feature that looked a little bit like a prison.

“Mr Park. I’m happy you made it. This house, as I keep telling you, is wonderful. Wonderful. It’s been so good to have Eddie here, you’ll be so pleased...come.”

Six months and seventeen days meant a lot of hours staring at a laptop, forcing his will to rise when Miles told him (never asked) they were going out. The brain and a healing man required repetition, a schedule, some pretense of normalcy. Waylon believed too much time on anyone’s hands was a step closer to constructing a noose with those hands.

He got by. At the behest of his roommate and coaxing of his therapist, he contacted Lisa again and patched things up as best as he could. There were still metaphorical stitches in the fabric of their friendship, but she was happy to hear his voice, and told him his parents sought his company again too. 

Waylon’s product received a healthy amount of attention, and rejecting offers to allow their use of it kept him busy on days he didn’t have to work, or Miles was out with his boyfriend (same guy too). 

Seeing Eddie was still like a step into another world. When Morrigan had called them after the initial relapse, Waylon had obeyed it. As she predicted, Eddie had been apologetic, guilty even. Waylon hadn’t wanted to reach out to him at first, admittedly taken back to that moment of fear when he knew Eddie could have taken his life.

Complicated thing, falling for a traumatized soul with rampaging proclivities.

But he listened to Morrigan, took her advice seriously, believing if anyone had the skills to tap into Eddie’s ‘normalcy’, it was her. It was not easy work, being part of the sessions. They weren’t allowed to be lovey-dovey, as per usual, but were encouraged to discuss particular topics.

He never had to talk about himself so much, about his family, about how he’d always had a bitter feeling inside of him for the big bad bullies who struck down the underdog. And a slew of other mind-probing and exposing discussions that left him feeling like a day to recover from it.

Morrigan had once said the mind weren’t unlike muscles in some ways. They could be overworked, and tear, and needed respites to recover the damage, only it would do so with stronger bonds. Interesting theory. Waylon considered it, and decided he wasn’t suited for intense existentialism.

Sometimes he got angry, sometimes Eddie was on the verge of reverting to old slurs and violence, but Morrigan calmed him down easier each time. Both of them, really.

At any rate, Waylon rarely looked back on the sessions now. What was the point, Miles had once told him, and he had to agree. Morrigan was the doctor, not him, so the heavy thinking was best left to her.

So he was not prepared (would he ever be) when she called him, as usual, to the house in which he visited Eddie most of the time. She had told him to pack his things.

They were trying this for real.

He knew he wouldn’t live with Miles forever, and even if he had to move out of the house, it wouldn’t be back with Miles. The journalist had his life and partner to consider as it was. It still had felt like a task to box up the few items he needed to take and bother Miles with an embrace.

They had promised to stay close, to be able to visit one another at any time. Rather, Waylon visit Miles frequently. It was another effort for Miles to visit him and Eddie. Waylon was fine with that. 

He was fine. He’d always be fine.

Though he wanted Miles to come this time, he knew it wasn’t a good idea. Morrigan said so. He’d have to invite Miles at a later time, provided Eddie adjusted well and she okay’ed it.

So no wonder he was all nerves as he came down the driveway, the crunch of his shoes seeming deafening. He focused on Morrigan, smiling nervously at her greeting. Following her tested him, but he did so after a few heartbeats.

Eddie wasn’t inside, so Waylon took the moment to set his boxes down, having brought nothing that would be considered a no-no given Eddie’s state. It wasn’t a delicate one, but it certainly wasn’t stable enough that they could fool themselves to believing this was their home, privacy awarded.

He rubbed his hands on his pants, glancing at his boxes. The last one contained the wedding dress. He hadn’t brought it to any of the sessions as Morrigan suspected they might have to. It seemed right to bring it now.

She guided him through the hallways, purposely taking a longer route outside to allow Waylon time to compose himself.

He wasn’t ready for the sight of Eddie.

It was a good thing, he thought.

Eddie sat at a desk with a sewing machine, fully functional, a testament to his state of mind to be allowed such a luxury. He was humming to a song that played delicately around the garden. A few other tables dotted the area (there was a grand amount of space, naturally), housing various processes of his sewing. Anything mechanical must have been wirelessly operated. Wires were not ideal for Eddie.

Waylon stayed quiet a while, merely watching Eddie labor over his work.

He realized this was the first time he’d seen it.

He couldn’t have watched too long, because he knew he must have gotten antsy of just watching. He approached and remained a few feet away.

“Eddie,” he said softly, waiting, smiling the kind of smile that told Eddie he was here to stay.

The humming came to a sudden stop as Eddie looked up. There was no lack of recognition in his eyes, and the smile came his lips so easily as if he’d been practicing it in the mirror. For all Waylon knew, he had. 

“Waylon...finally...you’re here.”

Of course the improvements had shown during their sessions, but never had Eddie looked so calm, so at peace with himself. He stood up, leaving his work unfinished beside the sewing machine.

His large strides covered the ground between himself and Waylon fairly quickly, but he stood a pace away from the software engineer. He did an only semi-awkward bow, reaching out a hand for Waylon to take.

“Dance with me.”

There was no arguing with the former tailor and Waylon was spun into Eddie’s grip. The music continued, a mellow, sedate sort of tune with an upbeat rhythm to it. It was perfect for swinging around in strange little pirouettes. 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Eddie beamed at Waylon as he lead him through steps he’d probably learned from some ridiculous TV show or other, “Morrigan told me you would stay. You don’t have to, but...I would love...if you gave me a chance.”

The song came to a crescent, and Eddie followed it suit by lifting Waylon up into the air entirely, before letting him fall into a tight embrace.

“I love you so much, Waylon, please, stay with me. I’ll be good. For you, for us. I promise.”

Less known for his sashaying, Waylon let Eddie lead the dance. Nearly two years, and Waylon had never known how gracefully Eddie, size and all, could not only move, but guide his partner to look moderately decent at it.

All the turmoil, all the hope snatched and crushed before his feet, all the days that tested his strength to roll out of bed, all the sad tones in his friends’ voices, the concern, everything that had accumulated to this point had not left their mark.

Waylon didn’t rely on fairy tales to lie to him about how all that strife could vanish once he was in Eddie’s arms the way he was in now. It was there, still weighing his limbs down. Only this time he had more endurance to tolerate it and keep dancing with Eddie.

They weren’t alone in their house. Even when Morrigan left, there were cameras built in to monitor because that was the reality. However, so was Eddie’s smile, so was that peace in his eyes.

Waylon kept looking at him as often as he could, knowing some nights Eddie might wake from a terror. That was okay. This moment reminded him he hadn’t struggled in vain and that his love, however twisted others might see it, had worth too.

He laughed lightly when Eddie dropped him into waiting arms. He held Eddie back, inhaling deeply, feeling ready for all of it.

“Sounds like a proposal,” he said, leaning back to meet Eddie’s eyes. “I’m here to stay, Eddie.”

Part of him had come prepared to ask Eddie if he had any regrets, small or not, having taken that risk in going out with Waylon that first night. He’d wanted to know that, despite finding Morrigan, if Eddie endured another, deeper layer of hell with doubts now that he could look back.

But the way Eddie had held him, danced with him, smiled the way Waylon knew he smiled when he thought about Eddie--well, he didn’t have any questions for Eddie now.

“Maybe it was one,” Eddie muttered, holding Waylon tight, as if this one embrace could make up for all the mistakes he’d made while in this unhealthy and yet rewarding relationship. It didn’t matter to Waylon, not with that smile on his face. They had their troubles, but now, Eddie was finally ready to make a real start with Waylon, who had seen every low he had to offer. There were no more secrets between them now, as far as Eddie was concerned.

“I...I’ve dreamed of it. But we should...probably take it slow?” Eddie didn’t know how to lead Waylon through the dance of love, but he was willing to try. His mind, the endless storm of rage, had finally calmed, settled, soothed. It was tucked into a corner of his awareness, but it no longer had the strength to control him.

Doctor Morrigan had done some magic, surely.

“Everything I’ve done...I can’t...apologizing won’t make it go away. But I regret the most...hurting you. You’re my everything, Waylon, my darling Waylon,” Eddie buried his face against Waylon’s shoulder, gripping on as tightly as he dared without hurting his endlessly loyal lover.

Waylon allowed Eddie all the time he needed to tell his apologies, to bleed it through the way he held him as if with enough physical assurance, the wrongdoings would finally take a seat in the back and let them build the good now.

“Hey,” Waylon said after a while, shifting so he could press his forehead to Eddie’s, which required the tailor to hunch over. “Remember what I said? There were a lot of things you did I didn’t like, but I still loved you. I saw what you could be, Eddie, and I was ready to die believing it. I just got the good end of the deal because you worked hard through it. It wasn’t easy, I know.”

He smoothed his hands over Eddie’s crisp shirt, pleased he was well nourished again. Now he could cook for Eddie everyday. God, he really was taking on a role of a stereotypical wife from an era Eddie had seemed fond of, an era he wanted for his childhood instead of the nightmare he really had.

“Yes,” he added. 

When Eddie didn’t seem to catch on, Waylon couldn’t help roll his eyes--a habit he’d picked up from Miles.

“I’m saying I’ll marry you, Eddie.”

There was a moment of absolute stunned silence, before Eddie’s smile burst forth. He couldn’t believe in all of his shitty life, he’d gotten Waylon as a shining light and future by his side. He really was a blessing.

“You...you will?”

What an absolutely amazing creature. Eddie felt close to tears, old fears and worries bubbling that Waylon didn’t mean it. But he did. He could see it in his eyes.

“You’d make me the happiest man on earth.”


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you die of diabetes from this chapter we do not accept responsibility

Waylon doubted Eddie’s words. Staring at himself in the mirror, he was sure he won the title for happiest man on earth. He’d been jerked through every layer of hell, felt every negative emotion compounded by the ones before it, and all the while knowing he was alone in it.

Well, mostly alone. With Morrigan, Miles, even Lisa’s distant support, he could say he was proud of himself. He hadn’t given up, and there were times lying in bed he sure as hell wanted to.

Now look at him.

Once an ex-psycho’s lover to fiance to any-minute-about-to-be-husband. 

Husband he was, but he didn’t wear a suit.

“God, I shouldn’t be pleased I look good in this.” Waylon kept staring at himself in the mirror, flabbergasted that the dress Eddie had made (and done touch-ups subsequently) smoothed over his angles flawlessly. 

He wondered if he’d look good in any dress, then decided, yes, but only if Eddie made it for him.

“Shit.” He glanced at Miles, his best man (naturally) in the mirror. “What if I start wearing like...50’s dresses while I cook? Is that crazy? Do I look crazy? I should be weirded out but I feel like nothing weirds me out anymore.”

He looked back at himself. He’d even fucking shaved for this.

“Shit,” he said again.

Miles was trying, really hard, even, to keep himself from laughing. It was true, Waylon actually cut a nice figure in a dress. A dress hand-tailored for him by a psycho that was probably worth over ten grand. A dress he was going to get married to said psycho in.

“I’m trying here man, but hell, you do look good. He’s got an eye for your body. Not that it’s surprising.”

He couldn’t hold it in any longer, giving a guffaw of laughter.

“I’m sorry Way! I can’t-hahahaa- you look great, really. Perfect bride!”

Waylon sighed, admitting defeat to Miles’ fit. Given all he had put the journalist through, he figured they could call it even now. Miles got to see him in a fucking dress, a wedding one at that, and would watch him march down the aisle. Somehow it didn’t really bother him.

Eddie knew he wasn’t a bride, but Waylon could offer this last piece of himself. It felt such a waste to not use the dress as it was.

“Have your giggles,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “I should be glad my parents didn’t want to come.”

They supported him, loved him, but he didn’t press them when they couldn’t bring themselves to meet Eddie. Not now. At a later time, maybe.

Well, at least he didn’t wear makeup. 

“Does it make it worse I’m wearing a garter?”

Miles’ inane laughter answered that.

So he was still a little crazy. That was his normal. He was happy with it.

“Jesus, Miles, it’s not that funny!”

It was, and it took them longer than scheduled to make their appearances. The wedding had been prepared to take place in the garden, a small ceremony with Miles, Lisa, and Morrigan. Curiously enough, Trager had gotten word of it, as did others of the apartment.

They didn’t come (they hadn’t been invited for good reason), but Waylon had accepted, dumbfounded, trinkets they sent as gifts. For a bunch of weirdos, they knew how to pick proper gifts, though he could do without the additional gift of Jesus on the cross from the twins.

It was all good in his mind though. 

All worth it when he was finally done with it all, ready to start that next chapter as the saying went.

He didn’t want to make a big deal of coming down the aisle, but the way Eddie looked at him upon spotting him come over, it made him feel like the entire world was watching him. Waylon could add ‘pink’ to the colors he wore today at that moment.

Eddie looked impeccable in a tuxedo, destined to wear one, but it was his expression that had Waylon break into a stupid grin. 

He hadn’t told Eddie he was going to wear the dress. 

It felt forever until he was standing in front of Eddie, no longer shy about being the guy in the wedding dress.

“It, uh,” he licked his lips slowly, “looks good on me?”

Not quite the greeting he planned, but with Eddie looking at him that way, he might as well melt.

The ceremony would be held in the garden of the smarthouse, Eddie’s permanent home. Everyone had sort of pitched in and set it up. Morrigan would officiate them as well she could. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t official, or recognized by any state. This was for Eddie, and Waylon, and it didn’t matter what the world thought of it. 

Lisa had taken a long time to decide whether or not she’d step into Waylon’s world for this, to meet Eddie Gluskin once more, knowing who he really was and what he’d done. In the end, her affection for one of her best friends had simply won her over and now she was all smiles and delight at the sight of Waylon. She certainly didn’t give a shit about ‘gender roles’. Waylon looked beautiful in his dress and though she’d been to plenty of weddings, she’d never felt so much heart as was in this one.

She stood bearing the rings, impeccably dressed herself. 

“You look amazing,” she mouthed to Waylon.

Eddie stared, speechless. His dreams had never shown him a vision more lovely than this. He took Waylon’s hand, brought it to his lips for a tender kiss.

“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life.”

Waylon’s face went a little redder at the compliments. Did his confidence good to see Eddie admire how he looked, like he could spend everyday worshipping him. Good or rough times ahead, Waylon was a level beyond happy they were together as they were now.

He smiled, then looked to Morrigan.

The ceremony proceeded. They’d prepared vows, but everything that could have been said given their rocky history didn’t amount to the way they looked at each other, an understanding and love forged in a place where people would abandon the search for it.

It all really passed by too quickly for Waylon.

“I do,” he heard himself say.

Their bands were unique tokens of affection, both linked to the smarthouse programming. It had taken a lot of work to compile the information the wristband Eddie had and shrink it to a band. Waylon had labored under the vision that Eddie would never take off his ring.

Now, looking at the matching set, Waylon had to laugh softly.

He jumped on Eddie and planted the first kiss before Morrigan had finished declaring that they could.

It wasn’t their first kiss since the move into the smarthouse, but it was certainly their most public display of affection. Lisa gave a whoop, cheering as loudly as any of the missing guests combined. Miles added a whistle for effect. Hell, it was probably the weirdest, smallest wedding ever held, but it didn’t matter to the couple and their few guests.

Eddie wrapped Waylon into his arms, and it if were up to him the kiss might never end between them. Waylon was his...his married partner, his husband, wife, whatever title suited him most. He, Eddie Gluskin, was married now. It almost didn’t make sense.

When they parted, Eddie’s heart was pounding. Nothing came to his mind in regards to his troubles. There was no room for them here, there was only Waylon, his love.

“I promise to be yours forever,” he repeated, admiring the ring on Waylon’s finger. 

Waylon grinned at the guests, feeling more at home with them than if he had invited hundreds of people. He held up his and Eddie’s hands at the cheering, then turned to him to indulge in the attention.

“Likewise,” he said, then shared a smirk as he leaned closer to whisper, “and I’d like to show you how much I’m yours when the eating and dancing is done. Privately. In our bedroom. In the bed.”

-x-

How quickly the time passed, Eddie didn’t know for sure. There was dancing and food and conversation, mind you he still kept himself as close to Waylon as possible, not entirely sure what he should discuss with the others. Except Lisa, who, after a timid greeting, began to heap praise onto his sewing skills, and expressed her admiration for the dress. Eddie was confused at first, but decided that he might actually like the outgoing young woman. She certainly seemed to have enough confidence and bravery to give him a chance for Waylon’s sake. Despite his past.

He found himself promising her if she was to marry at any point, he’d make her a dress too. Already he could picture which fabrics would flatter her gorgeous dark skin best. And that actually made for good conversation too.

Miles stuck to Morrigan, picking her brain about the house and her methods, but she certainly seemed amused by his efforts, trading what could only be described as affectionate hatred.

But Eddie couldn’t wait until the celebration came to a close.

When the guests began to leave, he grew nervous.

For a tiny wedding, there was more fun to be had than you expected. At last, Waylon felt at ease again talking to Lisa and Miles without concern gnawing on the back of his mind. He felt overpowered by love and support with such a small group of people. 

This was all he wanted, all Eddie had wanted.

A small piece of him had been worried that once he reached a goal, there would be little left of him. The drive would ebb, the passion wane. But it wasn’t.

He looked at Eddie often during the revelry, and saw the progression of uneasiness. Not the type to alert the smarthouse. It was a good kind. An anticipation.

By the time their guests had left with final well wishes, Waylon felt the tickle of nervousness too.

Silently, he took Eddie’s hand, guided him to the bedroom.

The bed loomed against the center wall, unsoiled, yet to be broken in.

Waylon gently began undoing Eddie’s bowtie.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you nervous like this,” he said, smiling up.

“Are you enjoying it?” Eddie didn’t budge an inch, allowing Waylon to initiate anything he might feel the urge to do. He was nervous, yes, because this was the kind of thing he’d never experienced enough to be comfortable with. Especially with a man.

“I almost don’t want you to take it off,” Eddie’s hand smoothed along Waylon’s hip, admiring his own work. Even now, he couldn’t find a fault. He’d done his best for his most beloved treasure.

The hand kept wandering though, eventually creasing the flowing skirt up enough to trace Waylon’s thigh. What he found there had Eddie’s eyebrow raise.

“Darling, you really dedicated yourself to this, hm?”

Waylon stopped unbuttoning Eddie’s shirt, having already slipped off the tux’s jacket. Eddie’s hand felt comfortable on his body, yet when it snuck under, he had to flush and clear his throat.

“I’ve been known to dedicate myself to things obsessively,” he said.

His hand went down, cupping Eddie’s.

“You’re supposed to take it off with your teeth, you know.” 

Of course he was. Well, good thing his hand hadn’t gotten too adventurous. Eddie backed Waylon onto the bed, slightly amused by the sheer amount of white fabric that fell along with his new bride. Waylon did a good impression of a frosted cupcake.

Eddie admired the sight for a long moment, before crawling to about the level of Waylon’s knees. He let his hands gather up the skirts, but dedicated his mouth and namely teeth to removing the garter. He took his time to drag it down Waylon’s smooth (had he even shaved that for this ceremony?!) leg and flicked it away, at the same time, making himself comfortable between his bride’s legs.

“Oh...” he grinned down at the sight of a flushed Waylon.

“Beautiful,” he muttered, mouth diving back to remove another layer of Waylon’s clothing, which hid some very obvious signs of his bride’s state of arousal.

It felt awkward simply sitting and leaning back, propped up by the folds of his wedding dress. Waylon could really only blush every shade of red as Eddie lowered his head and went missing under layers of heavy fabric. He felt him though, the brush of lip against his thigh, the hint of teeth as the frilled fabric was tugged over his knee.

A shiver shouldn’t have struck him so badly at the faintest touch, but it did. Then, he was on his back, looking up at Eddie, who then dove back under the dress, this time peeling something off that had Waylon groan.

Any concerns about his gender went flying with the underwear (also touched with femininity; it had to match the dress). He’d wear this kind of clothing more often if it meant seeing Eddie’s form working under it.

“Eddie,” he said, then chuckled when he struggled to find his husband(!) under all that gown. “Come here.”

He tugged Eddie in for a kiss, slow and long, sharing even breaths between each of them. His fingers danced over the shirt again, unbuttoning and tugging the ends free from the cumberbund, but not removing it altogether.

“We can go as slow as you need,” he said, already in the mindset to let Eddie take him. There would be a time when they could explore each other in reverse roles. For now, feeling Eddie the way he did now, tracing his scars and the delicious bumps of his muscles mattered most.

It would probably take a long time for Eddie to allow the kind of reversal Waylon had in mind, but it hardly came into his thoughts right now. There was a wonderful pair of lips against his own, and hands that were rather tender touching him with undisguised approval. Eddie felt a deep, deep craving to share himself with Waylon, as deeply as two people could. 

He let the kiss go on and on, lips and tongues playing in their own kind of game whilst their hands mapped out each other’s favourite features. For Waylon, it seemed to concentrate on Eddie’s chest, because he kept coming back to it as if he couldn’t quite believe the muscle tone of his new husband.

Eddie though had sunk a little lower, his hands already finding where Waylon ached to be touched. He was careful, only permitting light skin contact for long moments. He wondered how Waylon would sound if...Oh, he didn’t have to wonder. He could just try it out. The kiss ended and Eddie didn’t allow himself to be recaptured, disappearing beneath the gown again. This time, his lips found skin already warm and overly sensitive.

“Darling~...let me love you as I should have done long ago,” he whispered to the blushing bride above, before dedicating his mouth to Waylon’s cock.

Waylon enjoyed the game of disappearing-reappearing Eddie, thinking they must have looked like a couple of fools. Once Eddie stopped talking and his mouth found something else to occupy, he forgot all about the playfulness and felt a new heat radiate through him.

He supposed he was filling the role well, the still to be deflowered bride-groom-partner. Months upon months upon a couple of years lead up to a shameless Waylon. No one was here to interrupt as he moaned loudly and let his legs fall open a little more.

His fingers held onto the covers beneath, but one hand freed itself to touch the lump that was Eddie.

“Jesus, wait, Eddie...I...don’t have stamina built up...you’re going to make me come before I know it.”

Eddie dislodged his mouth and cushioned his cheek on Waylon’s thigh. He didn’t seem to want to emerge from under the dress at all.

“So? I will just wait until you recover, and make you do it again. And again. And every night from here on out,” he chuckled to himself though it hadn’t been a joke. He really did intend to love Waylon into oblivion. A blissful oblivion, at least.

“You’re already quite...excited,” another kiss pressed to Waylon’s tip, then Eddie’s hands were searching a little lower, until his bride squirmed.

“Oh...well...check the drawer, darling.”

Waylon groaned at the attention, feeling tingles wash over him in splendid waves of rapture. He was getting disoriented by all the affection to his lower half, but he managed to sit up and rummage around through the drawer, not expecting to find anything.

“I don’t think I put anything-Oh. Hold up.” He sat up enough to better close his fingers around a bottle. Withdrawing it, he saw it was lubrication and a sticky note had been plastered to it. 

“What the?”

A slick hole is a happier hole! - Morrigan 

Waylon lost a layer of color on his face, then received it at twice its original force. He coughed and handed the bottle to Eddie before dropping onto his back to cover his face at seeing Morrigan’s smile flash in his head. Really? He didn’t know if he should be thankful or mortified.

Probably a bit of both. Morrigan’s intentions had been very well-meaning though, and maybe they ought to thank her for her thoughtfulness. Waylon would certainly, come morning.

Eddie took his time to explore him, leisurely kissing, nipping, and humming in his throat. It wasn’t his finger that touched Waylon’s entrance first.

The kisses did an apt job of distracting Waylon from Morrigan’s momentary interference/advice. He was happy to forget about her and sigh at the doting husband Eddie proved to be. He could get use to having that mouth lavish him. Every night, as Eddie had promised.

His squirming ceased when something wet, not a digit, probed.

Well.

Shit.

Waylon twitched and cried out lightly.

“Eddie!” He lifted his head, but Eddie was a goner under his dress. “You, ah...fuck, you don’t...need to do that…”

But he wanted to. That’s what he would have told Waylon if he wasn’t a little busy. His hands found Waylon’s hips and held him steady, to stop that little buck his new husband had going on. Surely, he could have a little more fun before Waylon actually kneed him in the head for his impertinence?

When the squirming got too demanding and Waylon actually whined for him to stop before it was too late, Eddie lifted his head, allowing Waylon a respite.

“Darling, relax a little.”

This time, it was his fingers that searched for entry to Waylon, and they did so carefully and slick.

Waylon couldn’t move his legs when Eddie dislodged, nor did he have much room for speech as he stared up at the ceiling. In the short span of Eddie doing marvelous things with his mouth, he’d lost his breath and some of his wit. For a man who had never been with anyone, Eddie was passing inspection with flying colors.

Red being the most prominent. Waylon grunted at the proceeding touch, but had no need to protest. He felt loose and lazy, and almost had the mind to gesture for Eddie to settle between his legs. Luckily he hadn’t lost all his wit and recognized the need for preparation, even for this sort of thing.

He was learning just as quickly that he had long since waited for Eddie’s intimacy. Whenever he got a little anxious, a few breathing techniques and he was nodding at Eddie to keep at it, work his fingers in ways that had Waylon squirming again, tugging at his dress impatiently, panting harder.

When he finally felt his body was feeling too sensitive, he reached out to Eddie.

“Come here,” he breathed.

Eddie obeyed his spouse with admirable submission, leaning up over Waylon again. He still hadn’t bothered to pull any more of his clothes off, but at least his hair had lost its flawless state, strands hanging into his smiling face.

“Darling...do you feel ready?”

Morrigan had done a good job in answering all of Eddie’s questions. At first he’d been reluctant to share his thoughts concerning Waylon with his psychiatrist, but Morrigan always encouraged openness. And boy, had she been in for a surprise when Eddie told her of his fantasies concerning his future bride.

He was infinitely grateful for the advice she’d given him.

Every word was in his head, and implemented.

Waylon lacked the mindset to consider Morrigan’s influence on Eddie’s exceptional skills. Little managed to permeate the mush that was his brain at the moment, its focus gravitating around Eddie’s hands, his mouth, his everything.

All it committed to memory for later replay pleasure. Now, Waylon indulged himself like the glutton he felt.

His arms reached out again. Eddie came over, covered his mouth and jaw and neck with every kind of kiss. Waylon responded to each one, sometimes with harder pants, others with a whine. He was beginning to feel like a computer that Eddie had all the codes for, and knew all the ways to hack into his system and have him move and verbalize things he hadn’t before.

Gradually, Waylon shifted, dress and all, beneath Eddie. They never broke kisses unless to start another slew of them. Somehow they navigated blindly, Waylon helping Eddie shed the remnants of his clothing. The dress remained.

Waylon felt a delightful chill rake up his spine when Eddie hiked up the skirt, adjusted them (even propped a pillow under Waylon’s low back), and found his spot between Waylon’s legs. They finally stilled then, gaze to gaze, hands quiet on each other’s body.

Waylon couldn’t say how ready he was. 

His body could; his hand stroked along Eddie’s face and neck. Here they both were, a labor of their love. Eddie might not get the chance to prove to be a great father anytime soon, but he had produced something beautiful all the same: their future.

Waylon wouldn’t forget that, and he hoped he conveyed that in how he found one of Eddie’s hands on his thighs, gave it a squeeze. Lying back, he smiled up at his husband and gave the smallest nod.

Eddie sunk in with the patience he’d promised. It left Waylon aching terribly, both from the initial discomfort and the rush of doing what he’d long to do, and could do every night from now on. Even as his back arched in adjustment and slight protest, Eddie’s hands tended to him, rubbing circles in the right spots, whispering endearment against trembling thighs.

Waylon gripped him hard, finding his breath again once he felt Eddie nestled to the hilt. It was raw and fresh for them both, and made the sensations that much more acute. In the stillness of Waylon’s accommodating body, the sounds of their breathing played against the thumps of their heartbeats.

Eddie had buried his face sometime in Waylon’s neck, said his name so sweetly.

Waylon’s quivering hands squeezed strong, protective shoulders.

They moved as new explorers testing the land. There were moments of sloppiness, when Waylon had to grip Eddie’s arm to slow him down as he caught his breath. Other times his knees clamped onto Eddie’s sides, silently begging for more.

There were lazy thrusts that pushed Waylon up along the stretch of the bed, feeling the soft fabric drag against his slick body, where the dress wasn’t covering. There were short, quick thrusts that had him throwing his head back, clutching the headboard whilst it banged against the wall in a rhythm of Eddie’s zeal.

Sometimes Waylon shut his eyes tightly, sometimes he forced them wide open to watch Eddie work over him, spread his legs wide, lean close to hug his waist and bury deep as he could. Waylon liked it, even the susurrus of his dress as it rode out all of Eddie’s movements.

His eyes remained opened when he felt the start of euphoria. Eddie, the attentive husband, had taken a hand under the dress and stroked twice as quick as he was thrusting. Waylon joined him with one hand, the other coaxing his husband to share as many kisses as they could between the things they panted to one another.

When Waylon’s orgasm swept over him, Eddie’s name leapt off his lips, and he had to break eye contact to let his head fall back. Every nerve that had been tense prior to this deflated, his legs like liquid draped over Eddie’s hips as his husband pushed that much harder to seek his own release with the image sprawled before his eyes.

‘Again’ would have to wait.

Waylon never enjoyed being so sore, especially as it permitted him to be nothing but puddy in Eddie’s arms. For a long while, they basked in each other’s body heat and still labored breathing. Waylon could come to appreciate the quiet if this is what it meant.

Then, because he wanted to be as comfortable as possible, he found the vigor required to shimmy out of the dress, which he gently laid on the ground. His legs and back throbbed and laying it on the chair could come after. Eddie was already dragging him back, content with nestling against his now naked body.

Waylon turned in his arms, listened to Eddie’s heartbeat like he had so long ago. Still there, still strong.

He smiled.

They chatted for a bit, discussing what Waylon should pick up at the market to cook, what movies Eddie wanted to catch up on. There was also the color scheme of the bathroom. Nice, but Eddie thought another might be better. Waylon didn’t even remember the current color, but liked listening to Eddie talk about it, and then the things he was sewing.

Later, when he wasn’t so sated with aches and tingles, Waylon would have his epiphany.

He’d always dodged the mundane, unknowingly craving for something more, and he certainly got it. More than that, it turned out it wasn’t the mundane he hated. His delusions of grandeur hadn’t been as heavy-handed as Miles, who sought to expose all darkness in the light. Still, they had encouraged him to take the crazy road he had, and he’d been given so many chances to back out.

Because in the end, there was still the mundane waiting for him on this path, and that was fine with him now.

He had just been looking for the right fella to share it with.


End file.
